


Roses in December

by AmandaRex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Drama, Fluff, Hogwarts Era, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-15
Updated: 2007-02-21
Packaged: 2018-10-26 10:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 68,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10785276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaRex/pseuds/AmandaRex
Summary: R/Hr, H/G. Hermione finds a way to help Harry in his final confrontation with Lord Voldemort, but it comes with a heavy price. What could you lose that might be worse than death?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

"God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December." 

\- Sir James Matthew Barrie

* * *

Ron's head jerked upward as Hermione, without anything resembling what Ron would consider fair warning, suddenly slammed her enormous, dusty book shut and got abruptly to her feet. She rolled her parchment in an uncharacteristically untidy manner and hurriedly stuffed her quill and corked ink bottle into a pocket on the side of her bag.

"Hermione, what are you—?" Ron began, suddenly realizing his voice was far too loud for the library and that Hermione would be about to tell him off.

"Ron, quiet," she admonished in an urgent whisper, looking quickly to Madam Pince before turning back to him. "I've just, well, I've read something."

"I know, Hermione," he said, deliberately being thick just to see the exasperated blush grace her cheeks. "That's why we come to the library, to read things. But you don't see me suddenly going mad and leaping up."

"Honestly, Ron," she hissed. "You know we can't talk about this here. I need to see Madam Pomfrey. I'll come to your room before rounds."

"Hermione, rounds are hours away," Ron said, as incredulously as possible without raising his voice. "Surely you won't be in the hospital wing that long."

Hermione began to answer him and he honestly tried to concentrate on what she was saying. He was sure she was making a great deal of sense, as she nearly always did, but he was still stuck on his own panicked theories to explain why Hermione would suddenly need to go to the hospital wing, of all places.

_Merlin, I'm still in love with her._ All that snogging with Lavender Brown last year and his own determination to put, well, more-than-friendly thoughts of Hermione out of his mind couldn't burn it away.

Ron covered his sigh as she continued to talk to him in a harsh whisper. Blimey, wasn't she the one who'd just told him they shouldn't talk about this in the library?

Just before last Christmas, Ron had allowed himself to hope that she might have feelings for him as well when she invited him to that daft Slug Club with her. She probably just felt sorry for him. Maybe she _had_ seemed a bit off-balance when she'd seen him with Lavender, but that probably didn't mean anything. Hermione had snogged Viktor Krum, he reminded himself. How could she possibly have feelings for a non-entity such as himself?

"So, you can see why I need to speak with a Healer," she concluded, and Ron nodded a bit. "I need to ask about the side effects before I go any further."

"Wait ... side effects?" he said, interrupting her and earning an even more exasperated look. "Are you all right?"

Her exasperation turned to puzzlement. She cocked her head to the side, which caused a particularly rebellious chunk of her hair to fall over her left eye. He wanted to reach up and bury his hands in her hair and pull her toward him, look at her just long enough to make sure she wasn't about to murder him, and then ...

"What are you _talking_ about?" she hissed. 

He shook his head a little to clear it. This wasn't about kissing her. It was about her needing the hospital wing.

"You've just said you need to go to the hospital wing for several hours, and you're talking about side effects. It's a natural question, Hermione. Do you need help getting there? I can work on this essay for Flitwick some other time. We all know this is a farce anyway." He lowered his voice. "We should be out there with Harry, not back here at school pretending everything is normal the way the Ministry wants us to. I'd be there with him, if he hadn't all but sent us here after the summer was over." It all came out in a rush as he focused so strongly on the shadow her hair cast over her face that the rest of the world around her seemed blurry.

She circled the large wooden table to bend closer to him, presumably to ensure that no one would overhear them, although the only effect Ron had noticed was the way it drove him mad to have her hair brush his shoulder the way it had just brushed the side of her face a moment ago.

"Don't say things like that here," she began, scandalized. "We shouldn't talk about him," she said, pausing significantly as she did whenever she was referring to Harry without using his name, "out here like this. And it's nothing like that. I just need to ask Madam Pomfrey something." 

Ron gave her a look that he hoped would communicate just how much she had failed to convince him. 

"Listen, I've read something ... something quite important," she continued. "Well, it may be important. But I need to check something with a Healer, and Madam Pomfrey is more than qualified, I'm sure." 

Ron had felt slow and dim-witted for the past several minutes, but a thought finally entered his head that he felt was relevant enough to utter out loud.

"So it's about Harry?" he asked, and looked around just as she had a moment before. "And You-Know-Who?"

Hermione set her lips together and gave him the tiniest of nods. "This is why he wanted us to come back here, Ron. When McGonagall announced the school would re-open, we both knew he wouldn't come back. But there are so many resources here. At least one of us had to come back and use them to try and help him. I'm just glad I don't have to do it on my own." 

Ron blinked up at her, wishing yet again that she wasn't utterly, hopelessly out of his league. Then she did the most amazing thing. Her hand grazed his shoulder as she straightened. Just a quick touch, and he was sure she hadn't given it a moment's thought. She did things like this all the time now, ever since he'd first laid eyes on her when they'd both turned up in Little Whinging, determined to remove Harry from the Dursley's or at least stay there to protect him. Thank Merlin that Harry chose that day to decide it was time to finally go back to Grimmauld Place. Ron hadn't liked the look of that Dudley very much at all.

He doubted she would touch him as much if she knew what sorts of thoughts wandered through his mind whenever she did. He knew she just needed support, worried as she was for Harry ... for them all. She'd taken on as much responsibility as Harry would allow her to take, now that Harry was the unofficial leader of the remainder of the Order of the Phoenix. 

"All right then, Ron?" she said, and he realized she'd been waiting for him to nod, or even, _bloody hell_ , say anything intelligible, before she left.

He briefly considered asking her if she might not want to find a dark corner somewhere and snog until patrol instead, but it was an insane thought. Shame though, as he'd learned quite a bit of technique with Lavender and he was longing to put it to good use with his bushy-haired best friend.

_Who are you kidding? She'd always compare me to the rich, famous, talented Viktor Krum._

"Well, good luck then, Hermione." He smiled up at her as she guarded her book against her chest, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment before she turned away. He kept watching as she checked the book out of the library from Madam Pince, but he had to quickly look back at his Charms essay when Hermione turned toward him for a moment before she left the library.

He still didn't like to think about it, but the summer had changed her. Her parents' house, along with most of her belongings, had been destroyed in a Death Eater attack while she and Ron had been with Harry and her parents were, thankfully, away on holiday. Her parents were now being protected by the Order, even back to work now that wards had been set up to keep them safe there as well.

Hermione had, almost overnight, become quiet ... reflective. She'd receded into the background a bit, both in their lessons and during their off-hours. She took her schoolwork seriously for as much time as she could devote to it, but she no longer tried to answer every question asked by one of their professors. She was much more interested in spending her extra hours in the library looking for ways to help Harry than she was in revising.

It was ridiculous, really. She no longer nagged him about schoolwork, something he'd wished for more often than he could remember. Instead of being happy, he worried over her, at the changes that everyone else seemed to welcome as a relaxation of her bossy, know-it-all demeanor of previous years.

His feelings for her were the same—confused, as always. He loved her, he knew that now. At the same time, knew she could never be satisfied with someone like him. He'd known that since last year. Since forever, really.

He should be with someone less extraordinary than Hermione was, he'd realized, after finding out how serious she'd been with Viktor. Then when Lavender threw herself at him, he'd taken her up on it. She was probably still out of his league, pretty as she was, but the silly, giggling girl hadn't been bothered by that. 

If he was being honest with himself, the fiasco with Lavender only lasted as long as it had because she seemed to be content to merely snog all the time, at least in the beginning. He had a healthy interest in that subject, much more than he had in the Charms essay lying on the table in front of him. He couldn't deny that he'd imagined kissing an altogether different girl once his eyes were closed, though.

While it hadn't worked out with Lavender, he hoped he could find a way to be happy with a girl _like_ Lavender, a girl who might not grow bored of him the way he was sure Hermione would.

He just wasn't sure that would ever be true. He couldn't imagine himself with anyone other than Hermione, yet he couldn't imagine Hermione truly wanting to be with him.

Ron sighed and forced his eyes to focus on the blurry parchment before him. He needed to finish this essay before it was time to meet Hermione back in Gryffindor Tower. He finally forced himself to put his quill back to the parchment, leaning over the parchment as he tried to quiet the storm brewing in his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Ron left the library to walk blearily back to his room to drop off his books, he realized he'd have to hurry to get back in time for his patrol duties. He nearly ran into a pack of giggling Hufflepuff girls who only giggled harder after he passed them.

"Time to get back to your common room," he called back to them with a stern tone, anger flaring a bit as yet another intense bubble of nervous laughter from each of the girls was their only answer.

He mumbled the password to the Fat Lady, who nattered on at him about keeping his chin up before she finally gave up and swung forward to admit him. A look around the common room revealed Hermione sitting at a table in the corner, her leg bouncing with barely-restrained nervous energy.

"Ron," she said, getting to her feet and coming to him. She grabbed his arm and pulled him across the room, leading him up the stairs, then toward the private rooms that had appeared in the Gryffindor dormitory when McGonagall selected them as Head Boy and Head Girl. He had to take the stairs two at a time to keep up with her frantic pace as she dragged him toward his own door. 

Just for a moment, he allowed himself to fantasize that she was dragging him away to snog him senseless, maybe even rip his shirt off and then—

"Ron," she said, impatiently. "Let us in, I have to tell you something. And I have a surprise for you."

That did nothing to suppress the images flowing through his mind. He imagined a blushing Hermione, telling him how it had driven her mad to see him snogging Lavender last term, how she couldn't wait any longer to have him for herself. It was only through the greatest haze that he retrieved his wand from his robe pocket and waved it hastily at the door.

Once they were inside, she gestured quite excitedly for him to sit down on the edge of his bed. His already addled mind blurred even more with images of her sitting next to him, the two of them snogging. His room suddenly seemed quite small with the two of them in it together.

"I went to Headmistress McGonagall's office on my way back from the hospital wing. Imagine my surprise to find that she already had a visitor."

"I hope you don't mind, mate. McGonagall let me into your room. Can't really afford to be seen, even here at Hogwarts."

Ron spun around just in time to see Harry pull the Invisibility Cloak away, revealing himself as he sat in the chair near Ron's desk.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, unbelievably pleased to see his best mate for the first time in far, far too long, though his presence brought a final and crushing blow to the fantasy he'd been nursing.

Both of them jumped to their feet and there was an awkward moment before they hugged each other. Ron felt a little silly until he saw the happy tears glistening in Hermione's eyes. Anything that made her feel like that must be all right.

"It was really quite lucky that Harry chose tonight to meet with the Headmistress. I do wish I had more time to flesh things out, but as he _is_ here now—"

"Why? What is it?" Ron interrupted, looking at Hermione, then to Harry, then back to Hermione. Harry suddenly didn't look particularly pleased. Hermione, on the other hand, looked hopeful, which made him nearly mad with anticipation.

"I've found something. A spell. It could really help," she began, then gave a warning look to Harry. "Let him hear me out before you say anything, Harry. It's his decision to make as well."

"It isn't," Harry insisted. "Listen, Hermione. I'm grateful that you're looking for a way to help me, but if there's even a chance that—"

"You promised me, Harry. You said we could tell him and then talk it over. You _asked_ me to do this, to find anything that might allow us to destroy that final fragment of Voldemort's soul."

"But Hermione, I didn't mean something like this," he said, looking guilty when he saw Hermione's disappointed face. "Listen, Hermione. You helped me find the fifth and sixth Horcruxes, then you figured out how I could destroy them without getting myself killed. If that was all you'd ever done for me, I'd be grateful, you know that. But you, both of you, have done so much more than that. I can't ask you to do this as well."

Ron's stomach sank when Harry reminded him of all Hermione had done since Dumbledore's murder, and how little he, himself, had been able to do to help their friend. If there was anything he could do to help with the final step, something he could offer to help Harry finish the job he'd never chosen for himself in the first place ...

"I've looked and looked, Harry," Hermione said, a note of panic in her voice. "If there's another way, I haven't found it. We should at least think about it. If Ron's willing, that is." she added, hastily.

"I have had some time to think about it," Harry protested. "It's too much. I would do it myself, but not if you and Ron have to take the same chance."

"I didn't say we'd stop looking, I just said that we should prepare ... have this as a backup."

"Will one of you," Ron began, feeling supremely annoyed at the two of them talking as though he wasn't there, "please, for the love of all that's magical, tell me what the bloody hell you're talking about."

"Sorry," Hermione said, blushing a little. "I think we may as well just tell him, and we can all argue about it afterward," she said to Harry, who finally relented by sitting back in the chair. Ron couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that she hadn't bothered to chide him for his bad language, but he wasn't surprised. She hadn't bothered to do that for months.

"Well, go ahead. Tell him so we can both tell you how absolutely mad this spell of yours is."

"Certainly, Harry. Especially as you've taken such pains not to set him against the idea before he's even heard it." She flashed him a slightly acidic look before pulling the book she'd found in the library out of her satchel. Her fingers flew over the pages until she finally settled on one, pointing to one passage and then pushing it toward Ron for him to read.

He sighed and tried to focus on the ornate script the book was written in, his eyes widening as he took in the spell she'd indicated.

"What book is this, Hermione?" he asked, turning to the cover. " _Impossible Spells for Impossible Problems: A Guide to Experimental Magic_ ," he read aloud. "Experimental? Why hadn't we looked in this book before?"

"It was hidden in the back corner of the Restricted Section. I've only had a chance to dig into it this year, when Professor McGonagall arranged for my Restricted Section pass."

"So, we can share our magic with Harry when the time comes. I don't understand what's so horrible, Harry. Don't you want our help?"

"Ron," Hermione said, hesitantly. "Did you read the entire passage?"

"Most of it. The spell, its effect." Both Harry and Hermione rolled their eyes at him, making him a bit defensive. "Oi, I've been in the library since we left supper. I've been reading and writing for four hours straight, so you'll have to excuse me if I—"

"There's a bit of a side effect, mate," Harry said, sending an accusatory look at Hermione. "You probably won't remember who you are after the spell is over."

"What!" Ron exclaimed, scrambling to get the book back from Hermione, whose eyes had fallen to the table.

He read past the end of the description of the spell and saw what Harry referred to.

"This spell creates a powerful bond between the casters," Ron read aloud, his eyes flying over the page, "In fact, the bond is so strong that, when broken, it creates an equally powerful aftershock. In extreme cases, it can cause death. In most cases, however, it will result in the complete obliteration of the caster's memory."

"Before you make a snap judgment Ron, think about it. Wouldn't it be better for us all to make it through alive, even if we didn't remember anything, than for all of us to die at Voldemort's hands?" Hermione pleaded.

"But we might not make it out alive, Hermione. Didn't you read this?" Harry asked. "It could kill us. All of us."

"I talked it over with Madam Pomfrey, Harry. I've been trying to tell you. She thinks the chances of one of us dying are quite remote. It's much more likely that we'll simply, well ... "

"Forget everything," Ron said, quietly. "Forget each other. Forget our families."

"Now, that part doesn't sound too bad," Harry said, sarcastically. "I've already all but forgotten about the Dursleys."

"It's not a certainty. Even if it does happen, it might not be permanent," Hermione insisted.

"Might not be," Harry said. "Is that enough for you, Hermione? Ron? That maybe, someday, the people you know might not seem like complete strangers to you?"

"What if we had to face him right now, Harry?" Hermione asked, rounding on him, her eyes flashing with anger. "I know he's weakened, but could you do it? Do you have a plan? Or would we all just die?"

"Hermione," Ron said, rearing back from her in surprise. He honestly couldn't believe she'd said that to Harry. The entire Order was still reeling from the loss of Dumbledore, and they all seemed to look to Harry as though he suddenly had all the answers. With that sort of pressure on his shoulders, it seemed rather harsh to remind him that he didn't.

"I'm not saying this is the only plan. But at least it is a plan." She shut the book abruptly, pulling it out of Ron's grasp. "I'm going to my room to do more research. When the two of you give it more thought and finally see that a having a backup is better than having nothing at all, I'd be glad to share the results with you." She grabbed her bag, turned her back to them, and left Ron's room, her hair streaming behind her.

Harry looked at Ron, still unable to wrap his mind around everything that had happened in the past few minutes.

"Don't you start in on me as well," Harry said, warningly. "If it was just me, it would be fine. But I won't let you and Hermione—"

"And we won't let you do it on your own. Just because some madman has it in for you doesn't mean we're going to abandon you, or that you're the only one who has anything at stake. I thought we made that clear at the end of last year. Hermione's house is gone, Harry. She'd be gone as well, if she'd been in it. And what about Bill? He's lucky to be alive, even if his scars will never heal. We're all in this. If I could give up my memory to make sure we all stay safe and we end this once and for all, then I'd do it. So would you, and so would Hermione. Now, before you decide a perfectly reasonable idea is rubbish, maybe you should think about it rationally before you run off on your own again, leaving us out."

"I've got to talk to McGonagall again before I go," Harry said, his hands balled into fists by his sides. "I'll be back soon. I'm sure we'll have found another way by then."

Harry disappeared under the cloak again, and Ron didn't say a word as the door to his room opened and closed. It had been a long time since Harry had pushed them away like this, and Ron had forgotten exactly how infuriating it was.

Ron felt restless, pacing for a few minutes before he went into the corridor outside his room. He looked longingly at the staircase between the Head Boy's and Head Girl's quarters that allowed Hermione to come to his room, but wouldn't allow him to go to hers. Bloody archaic double-standards. He really needed to talk to her, but he couldn't get within ten feet of her without the alarms sounding, waking the entire school and drawing attention to them that they couldn't afford.

He stared hard at the door, almost believing for a moment that if he concentrated enough, he could Summon her. She would feel him and she would come. He laughed to himself as he turned to his room and prepared to wave his wand and think the spell that would open the door again. He was quite surprised when he heard the click of her door.

"I'm sorry I left you that way, Ron," she began, and he turned to see her, surrounded by the moonlight streaming in the window behind her. "I didn't mean to lose my temper. I was just so frustrated."

"It's all right, Hermione. I ... well, I rather lost my temper as well, after you left." She gave him a look, and he realized she had no idea what his opinion of the spell was. "I don't think there's any harm in using this as a backup plan, like you said. We don't have to use it, but we can't use it at all if we don't know how."

"He's just so infuriating, Ron. He wants to do it all himself when he knows deep down that he needs our help."

"He doesn't mind having our help. He just doesn't want us to be hurt. Besides, I thought I was the one who infuriated you," he said, suddenly needing to lighten the mood.

A smile broke out over her face. "Yes, well, I can be infuriated enough for the both of you."

"He'll come around, Hermione. You just have to give him some time. He said he'd be back soon."

"I suppose you're right." She paused for a moment, giving him a strange look, then she began to turn away. She stopped midway, with her shoulder turned to him. He caught his breath at the way her body was clearly outlined in the moonlight. "I'm frightened, Ron," she added, her voice small and vulnerable. "If we do have to use the spell, I don't want to forget. My parents ... Harry ... you."

"Come here, Hermione," he told her, before he'd even thought about what he was saying. He hoped against hope she would come, but the notion of it was absolutely terrifying.

"Ron! I'm in my night clothes."

"You mean, the kind I've seen you in since we were eleven?" he said, teasing her. "Fine, put on a robe and then come here."

She came halfway down the stairs before she spoke again. "I _am_ frightened. I can't show it to Harry, but I really feel like this is the only way. I don't think we'll find another one. I'm frightened that we'll all forget each other, and if we do that, don't we die, in a way? I won't be the person I am now, will I?"

"Hermione," he said, helplessly. "I can't come to you. If I set foot on one of those steps, the alarms will wake half the castle."

She finally relented and closed the rest of the distance to him. He found himself uncertain what he should do, now that he'd finally persuaded her to come.

"I just don't know, Ron. I have to be certain in front of Harry, to convince him, but I really just don't—"

"You're so brilliant, Hermione," he breathed, his arms reaching out and pulling her into his chest just as he had at Dumbledore's funeral. He tried not to think too hard about what they were doing and concentrate on why he'd called her to him in the first place. She was scared and she needed someone to reassure her. He had to keep his mind on the task. 

But Merlin, she was soft against his chest and he nearly groaned aloud as his face fell into her hair and he found the scent of her all around him.

"Ron," she said, and pulled away a little, letting him see the flush on her cheeks as she turned her eyes briefly upward to him, and then to the ground. "What if I'm wrong?"

"Hermione," he said, wishing he could just cover her mouth in a kiss and make her forget every last one of her worries. "I know you're sick to death of everyone telling you how bloody clever you are all the time, but the most unbelievable bit of it is that part of you, at least, doesn't believe it. When it comes down to it, I think you doubt yourself too much. That's mad, Hermione. I trust you. Why don't you trust yourself?"

"I'm not sure I can go through with it. I can't lose you," she looked up, her gaze drilling into his. "Or Harry," she added, shaking her head a little and breaking his heart just a bit.

"You'll hang on. There's not a spell strong enough to go against your mind and win. You'll remember, Hermione, and if we don't, you'll make us remember. You'll keep after us until we do."

She buried her face into his chest and he cupped the back of her head in his hands, his eyes closing and his head falling back with the sheer perfection of it. All too soon, she pushed back and nervously brushed her hair away from her face.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I'm being silly. I should get to bed," she said, abruptly. She turned from him and fled up the steps, shutting her door behind her and leaving him alone.

"I don't understand how you think I could forget you," he whispered after her, wishing he'd had the courage to say it when she could hear him.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, as Ron was attempting to care about that day's Charms exam before he went down to the Great Hall for breakfast, there was a hesitant-sounding knock at his door. It was such a weak knock that he half-expected the person to be gone by the time he got to his door.

"Probably one of the munchkins, homesick or something like that," Ron mumbled to himself as he pulled on his robes. "Time to get out of here anyway," he continued as he opened the door.

"Good morning, Ron," Hermione said, smiling at him over the books she carried against her chest. "Do you have a moment or two before we go down to the Great Hall?"

"Yeah," he said, quickly moving aside to let her in. "I mean, of course. What do you need?"

There was an eternity of silence that followed. First Ron found himself praying that she wouldn't bring up their embrace from the night before, then he began to hope she would.

"It's just—I don't like being at odds with Harry, but this is important. I'm going to need your help. I know we've had our disagreements, but with as little as we talk to Harry these days, we have to stay together on this. If we do, he'll eventually see reason."

Ron nodded while he swallowed his disappointment, trying to change gears and bring himself into the conversation he _was_ having with Hermione and set aside the one he _wished_ they were having.

"I don't think we should browbeat him, but we need to stay strong. The spell is worth working on. We just have to convince him. Please help me. Any contact you have with him, just make it clear that you're willing to do it and that you know I am too."

"Sure," he agreed, unable to deny her anything when she stared at him with that wide-eyed, earnest look. He wondered when he'd stopped wanting to row with her at a moment like this, when she was sure she was right and Harry was wrong.

"Are you prepared for the exam?" she asked, throwing him off a bit with the abrupt change of subject.

"Well, if I felt completely prepared, that book would be in my bag instead of on my desk," he said, giving her a wry smile. "I think I'll pass, though."

"I think you may do more than that. You've been doing quite well, Ron. You hardly ever borrow my notes anymore. I don't think you've copied a paper of mine all year. I know I've relaxed my standards a bit, but surely I haven't slid so far that you've found someone else to help you." She smiled back at him, but he couldn't help thinking she looked a little sad.

"We should never have let you do so much of our work for us before, Hermione. You're congratulating me for something I should have been doing all along." He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed at the look of astonishment Hermione was giving him. "So, are you ready? I'll bet you were up all night revising," he teased her.

"I was up quite late, but it wasn't revision."

Ron nearly swallowed his own tongue in shock, his mind quickly running through all of his fantasies of what Hermione would spend the night doing, alone in her room, if it wasn't revision.

"I was writing myself a letter," she clarified, and Ron told his brain to slow down so he could concentrate. "Just in case, you know. I lost everything, when my house ... well, you know. If we have to use the spell and I lose my memory, I won't have things to look through to tell me who I was."

"Blimey, Hermione. If I used my room at home to tell me who I was, I'd think I didn't care about anything other than the Cannons."

"Well, do you?" she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Oi, Hermione. That hurt."

They laughed for a moment before Hermione's expression turned serious again.

"It's just—I want to know if something happens, I'll have something to guide me back. Maybe if you and Harry write one too, it'll make him feel better about the possibility of using the spell."

"Am I imagining things, or did you just give me an assignment, Hermione?" He smiled at her to make clear that he was having her on. The old Hermione would have been annoyed with him for making light of something she clearly felt was quite important, but he didn't think she'd react that way now.

"Well, when Harry starts to come around, this will help a lot. Don't you think, Ron? If we know we'll have something to help guide us back? Even if we never get our memories back, at least we'll know as much as we were able to get onto parchment."

"So, where's your letter, Hermione? Can I read it?" he asked, closing the distance between them as much as he dared.

"Will you let me read yours?" she said, meeting his eyes with a look of daring she normally only wore when she was tackling a new spell during a lesson. It, quite simply, stole his breath. How had he ever thought that he could be happy with any woman other than Hermione?

It took him a moment to recover enough to respond, and he heard himself say, "All right then, point taken. I'll leave you to your secrets if you leave me to mine."

Hermione's face turned quite serious for a moment, and she took one more step toward him. She was close enough to him that, if he could just convince himself it was a good idea, he could take her by the arms and pull her into another embrace.

"If anything were to happen to me, Ron—wait, let me finish," she interrupted herself, as he'd taken a breath to protest. "Nothing's certain now. Anything could happen, even if we don't use the spell. I want you to read it."

He breathed her name and shut his eyes, his head lolling back in pain at the thought of losing her and being left behind to continue on without her.

"Only if you'll read mine ... you know, if ..."

"I thought you didn't want to write one."

He loved her just a little bit more because she'd managed to steer the conversation into a much lighter direction.

"Well, maybe I will if you promise to look it over and make corrections if I'm not around to do it myself. You know, so when the _Daily Prophet_ gets their hands on it for my memorial, they'll have all their facts straight."

"Don't joke about that, Ron. It's not funny."

"Oh, give over, Hermione. You've always wanted me out of the way. You'd really like to be Keeper of the Gryffindor team if they reinstate Quidditch before the end of the year. I just didn't realize the lengths you were willing to go to."

It shouldn't have been funny, but it was. He could see Hermione trying to keep a straight face, trying to talk herself into scolding him, but the humor won out.

"Oh, Ron," she said, between surprised-sounding, gasp-like laughs, "that's just awful. I cannot believe you said that."

"I can't believe it either. You'd make a much better Beater." He pretended to think it over, rubbing his chin theatrically.

Hermione snorted a little as she tried to stop herself from laughing. She seemed embarrassed about it, but it was really quite endearing.

"Well, I clearly can't trust you with my letter. And I know you can't trust me with yours. We'll have to find a neutral third party."

"Fourth party," Hermione corrected, "if we talk Harry into it as well."

"Fine then," he said, mock-rolling his eyes. "Have it your way."

"What about Ginny?"

Ron tried to imagine entrusting his little sister with a letter in which he would surely admit his feelings for Hermione.

"Absolutely not."

"Ron! Are you saying you don't trust your own sister?"

"She's also the twins' sister. So, no, I don't. Not with this."

"I could hex the letters," she said, thoughtfully. "Like the roster for the D.A. meetings in our fifth year. That way we'd know if she peeked."

"You're absolutely brilliant, have I ever told you that?"

"Come on then," she said, blushing a little. "We'll be late if we don't get going." She hefted her bag onto her shoulder and turned to leave. Ron had an insane desire to take it and carry it for her, although he couldn't imagine the look she would give him if he tried it.

"Right," he said, grabbing his own bag and following her to the door.

"Ron," she said, stopping and turning toward him.

_Merlin. What could she possibly have to stop now to tell him?_

"Won't you need your textbook?" she asked, pointing to his desk.

"Ah. Right," he said, and hurriedly grabbed it, shoving it into his bag as he followed her out the door.

"Honestly. You'd forget your own head if it wasn't—"

"All right, all right. You've made your point," he protested, smiling at the back of her head as she led him away.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Ron had a horrible feeling as he found himself pacing instead of sleeping...again. He'd bumped into something invisible, but distinctly Harry-sized during his patrol with Hermione earlier that evening, and they had been quite close to McGonagall's office at the time. It didn't take someone of Hermione's intelligence to put the pieces together and decide that Harry had come back to the castle, but was avoiding both of them.

He wasn't sure how he knew, but he was sure that Harry wouldn't leave the castle without coming to see him. They hadn't left things on the best of terms that last time they'd spoken, and Harry must know that he'd given himself away earlier. It had been at least an hour since Ron first began his vigil when he heard the quiet knock at his door. He opened the door to find a seemingly empty corridor, but of course there was nothing there to see. Harry remained under the Invisibility Cloak until he was safely inside Ron's room and the door was shut.

As soon as he was visible again, Ron stared silently at him, determined not to say anything until Harry did. It looked for a long moment as though Harry was planning to approach the situation the same way, but then he finally spoke.

"It's time," Harry said, sitting heavily on the edge of Ron's bed.

"Time for—blimey. Now? Right now?" Ron asked, beginning to pace around the room. It was as though every useful, intelligent thought he'd ever had in his life had fled and left him a gibbering moron.

"Not tonight. But soon. Sooner than any of us would like." Harry looked helplessly up at Ron. "I always thought ..." he began, and then clamped his mouth shut.

"What, Harry?"

"I thought when the time came, I'd be ready. I'd somehow know what to do." He gave Ron a look of confusion. "I'm not sure why. I've never gone into any other situation with Voldemort or his bloody Death Eaters knowing how I would handle it. But now I have to know, don't I? We don't have Dumbledore to lead us anymore."

"Listen. I know you don't want me to bring this up, but there's Hermione's spell." He chanced a look at his friend and was surprised not to see the look of anger he'd expected.

"She hasn't let me forget it, either. Every time I have to talk to McGonagall, I can tell Hermione's been making her case." Harry said, but quietly, not with the anger that Ron expected. Almost as though he'd really begun to consider it.

"You know Hermione. You can't really blame her for thinking she's right, mate. Much as I hate to admit it, she usually is."

Harry actually laughed at that, and Ron found himself smiling back, shaking his head. It seemed odd to smile at anything with what loomed ahead of them.

"I really, really don't want to ask the two of you to do this for me. You've both sacrificed so much. Neither of you have been safe since you met me on the train. You've both nearly died, more than once. How can I ask you for even more?"

Ron wished Hermione was there with them. She was much better at moments like this than he was.

"That's just it though, Harry. You don't have to ask. I don't regret being your friend, and neither does Hermione. There's no question whether we'll do this with you. Ask me a hundred times, and it's the same answer, right mate?"

"But, Ron. Every memory you have. It could all be gone."

Ron shrugged his shoulders, not really feeling the nonchalance he was trying to pretend for Harry's benefit. "I've got a lot of bad habits. Perhaps I could do with starting over."

Harry laughed again, and it was at that moment that Ron knew they would be doing the spell. Despite the brave front he was putting on for Harry, he could feel the panic rising in him at the thought of what they had to do.

"But what about Hermione? Think she'll come out on the other side and suddenly develop a love for Quidditch?"

"I'm not sure there's enough magic in the world for that one," Ron said, laughing a bit more.

A long moment of silence passed before Harry spoke again. 

"Think you'll still be in love with her after we forget everything?"

"Harry!" Ron sputtered, feeling a sense of dread that had nothing whatsoever to do with Voldemort or Death Eaters or losing his memories forever. "I don't—I mean, it's not like that."

"Ron, Hermione's not here, and I already know I'm right. There's no point in trying to deny it. I thought you'd finally sorted it out last year, until you went and lost your head over her one bloody snog with Viktor Krum."

"Really Harry, I—" Ron began, but he could see it was no good. "Don't tell her, all right? This isn't the right time."

"You may not have another time."

"We can't afford this now. What if she doesn't feel the same way, and it makes us so uncomfortable it affects the spell?"

"She does feel the same way, Ron. You didn't have to watch her last year, staring daggers at you when you were attached at the lips to Lavender Brown. No one cares that much about you getting a snog unless they have feelings for you."

"Don't say that. I couldn't go through with this if I knew that was true."

"That's it," Harry said, turning his back to Ron. "We can't do this, then. We'll find some other way. I can't let you give this up for me."

"Yes, you can, because we don't have a choice. This is the only plan we've got. You're stuck with us."

"Take some time and think about it first."

"I don't need to. We all know what we have to do. If there are things that are...meant to be...they'll happen. Like you and Ginny, once all this is over."

"Ron," Harry said, in a warning tone.

"Listen, mate. If you can be nosy about my love life, you have to expect the same back. She still loves you, you know."

"If I thought I would remember her, even if I do make it out of this alive, that would be the most important thing in the world to me," Harry looked at Ron earnestly.

"Hermione's had a bit of a brain wave about that, about us losing our memories. She's written herself a letter, so she'll remember what she needs to when we're on the other side."

"What about you? Have you written one too?"

"Yeah. Ginny's got it. Hermione's jinxed them so no one can read it but one of the three of us. Mind you, I took my life in my own hands taking it to Ginny. She had a nice, long yell at me when I gave it to her. Worse than one of Mum's Howlers. She's still angry that the spell's only for three people."

"I'm glad. She's well out of it, Ron. I just wish I could keep her out of it entirely."

"Just don't say that to her. It's not just Bat-Bogey Hexes with her anymore. She's right scary now, mate." Ron let a moment pass, thinking about his sister, before he thought to ask Harry to write a letter of his own. "What about you? Think you'll write one of your own?"

"I'll start it tonight. You know, just in case we don't find another way."

"Just don't forget to tell yourself what a great guy I am, right?"

"I won't," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Can I tell Hermione when I see her tomorrow?"

"Tell her what? About the spell? Or that you love her?"

"Harry," Ron protested. Harry put his hands up.

"Right. I give up. Tell her, don't tell her. I'll be back again soon, so we can prepare. If one of you has to get in touch with me, McGonagall will know how to find me." 

Harry left, invisible as always, and Ron began to pace again. It was a long time before he fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Ron resisted the urge to duck away from his mum's attempt to brush down his hair with her fingers. It was the last time he would see her, see any of his family other than Ginny, before ... well, before everything would change. McGonagall had arranged for Ron's and Hermione's families to come to the castle to explain what would happen and allow them to see each other before Voldemort's inevitable attack.

"Ronald Weasley, I wish you'd let me cut this hair," his mum said, far too loud for Ron's taste. 

The twins sniggered in the background, making it difficult for Ron to keep the expression on his face neutral. Everyone was so deathly serious about this, other than the twins. Ron didn't want this afternoon to seem like a funeral, but that was what it was rapidly turning into.

"Oi, Mum," Fred said, tapping his mother on the shoulder. "Why don't you just wait a few days and then tell him it was his idea to cut it."

"It's not as though he'll know the difference," George added.

"Boys, I cannot believe you would make light of such a terrible—"

She was interrupted by an eruption of laughter from Ron, who couldn't help feeling a certain panic that Voldemort would have to get in line behind his mum to have a go at killing him. It wasn't funny; none of this was. He needed this, though, to have a laugh with his brothers and see his parents smile at him at least once before they left him to the spell.

"Mum, you can shave my head if you want to. I'm just glad you're all here."

Ron stole a look over at Hermione and her parents as his mother continued to fuss over him. Mr. Granger looked proud and uncertain, standing back a bit from his daughter as though he'd never really considered how powerful she had become. Mrs. Granger was wiping a tear away from Hermione's face, her own tears falling down her cheeks and dropping on the floor.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" Ron's mum asked him.

"I'll be fine. You know that Hermione and I will be guarded during the spell. We can't be interrupted or Harry's—well, we just can't be interrupted. It's Harry and the rest of you I'm worried about. You're all in the Order ... you'll all be there."

"We'll be fine, Ron," his father assured him. 

"Yeah, little brother. Don't you worry about us," Charlie said. "We'll take care of each other. You take care of You-Know-Who."

Ron began to protest that he and Hermione would not be the ones facing Voldemort, but his father seemed to sense what he was about to say.

"Nonsense, Ron. Harry needs you and Hermione there with him. It's the three of you who will put an end to this."

Ron nodded, not enjoying the grave turn the conversation had taken.

"Is there anything you want us to tell you, afterward?" Bill asked with a measure of uncertainty in his voice. "Don't look at me like that, Mum," he said, finding himself on the receiving end of a rather nasty glare. "If I hadn't had Fleur and all of you last year, I'm not sure I would have made it. They'll want to know a few things when they wake up."

"We have that taken care of," Ron said, looking at Ginny. "We all wrote a letter to ourselves. Ginny's safeguarding them for us."

Fred leaned over to his sister. "C'mon then. A Galleon to let me read Ronniekin's."

"Only if you'd like to spend the next few weeks in St. Mungo's," Ginny said, in the same tone of voice that would have been followed by her stuck-out tongue when she was a younger girl. "Hermione's hexed them, of course. The only people who can read them are Harry, Hermione, and Ron. You wouldn't get through a paragraph before the boils squeezed your eyes shut."

"Leave it to Hermione to take all the fun out of it, right, Fred?" George asked.

"Only your fun," Ron retorted, a bit put out to hear the twins have a go at her, even as a joke.

McGonagall appeared in the doorway to her office, and she signaled Ron's father with a wave of her hand.

"Ah, just a moment. I believe the Headmistress would like me to have a word with Mr. and Mrs. Granger."

"Wait. Can I talk to you first?" Ron said, afraid of what his dad would say in his excitement over talking to Muggles. He took his dad's arm and pulled him aside.

"What is it, Ron?"

"Be careful, yeah? They don't know about this the way we do. We've known all about Vol—" Ron cut himself off, remembering that his father still preferred to avoid the name, "You-Know-Who all along. They've only heard the full story recently, and I'm not even sure they know all of it."

"I'm just to tell them where they'll be when—when it happens. That they'll be safe, and that their daughter will be well guarded during the spell."

"Do you know—how much have they been told about the spell?"

"They know what we all know. Hermione isn't keeping it from them."

"I wish there was a way to leave her out of it," Ron said, finally voicing aloud what he hadn't dared to say to anyone before.

His father gave him a long, appraising look before he answered, as though he knew something Ron didn't and was trying to decide how much of it to tell him. 

"Without Hermione, no one would know about the spell. She deserves to take part if she chooses to, and furthermore, you and Harry need her."

"I know that. I just wish it was different."

"You can't protect her from this. You don't have the right. I wish I could keep your mother out of it, but I know it's no good." Ron felt his father's hand on his shoulder. It should have reassured him, but it didn't.

"Go on, I don't want to be on McGonagall's bad side," Ron said, nodding toward the Grangers. "She'd still give me detention if she wanted to, you know." 

He watched as his father approached them and then apparently asked Hermione to leave them alone. She smiled shyly over at Ron as she left them and walked toward him, her eyes falling to the floor as she got nearer.

Ron prayed for a miracle ... that Bill or Charlie would take some pity on him and keep the twins away, even for a few minutes. Something about the look in Hermione's eyes told him this would not be just any conversation.

"Can we walk?" she whispered. "I don't care where. Out on the grounds?" She met his eyes, a hint of the challenge and fire he'd always seen there behind the subdued look she'd worn since the arrival of her parents. "The Quidditch pitch, for all I care," she said, and smirked at him a bit.

He nodded, unable to say anything else, and followed her as she led them toward the door.

The twins looked as though they were about to say something and Ron found himself at a loss until Hermione merely took out her wand and Silenced them as she strode past. Bill and Charlie shared a look and then burst out laughing. Ron was certain that if his mum could read lips, she would decide that Fred and George weren't too old to have their ears boxed.

They walked through the corridors, the shine from Hermione's victory over the twins quickly fading and leaving deadly silence in its wake. Ron wondered if he should say something first or if he should wait. He finally decided to defer to her. After all, she was the one who wanted to talk, so who was he to interrupt her while she was thinking?

He led them toward the Quidditch pitch. Once she'd mentioned it, it was the only place he could think of going. His fifth year, between those hoops, was the first time he'd really begun to believe he could make something special of himself. Someone separate from Harry the Hero, or Hermione the Brilliant, or any of his brothers. He hoped being back there again would give him enough strength to get through whatever Hermione had planned for him.

"Have you missed it?" Hermione asked him, just as they set foot on the pitch proper.

"Have I missed—oh, Quidditch? Yeah, of course I have." Ron looked at the grounds, at the entrance from the changing rooms where he'd once stood, trying valiantly not to vomit with nerves and fear.

"I wish they hadn't canceled the season again. Well, I know why they did. I just wish it hadn't been necessary."

"Yeah," he agreed, wondering what else he should say.

"Of course we all wish it wasn't necessary. It would mean this mess is finally over and we can have normal lives. That was a bit of a daft thing to say, wasn't it?"

"I don't think so," he said, struggling to follow what she was saying. Surely she hadn't brought him here to talk about Quidditch or whether she was daft or not.

She took a deep breath, looking at him and then down at the ground again. "I have to ask you something."

She looked so scared that Ron wished he could do something to make her feel better. He just couldn't seem to get his mouth moving.

"I just want to know if you wrote about me in your letter. I want to know what you'll know when this is all over." Her words came out in a rush, and she looked as though she'd rather be anywhere but here.

"I—blimey, Hermione. Of course I wrote about you. You and Harry are the most important people to me, outside of my family. Did you really think I'd leave you out?"

"You can't deny that things have been difficult between us at times, Ron. I know we've fought. We've both said some horrible things, and we hardly spoke at all for the whole of last year. I just need to know, if you wrote about that, did you write about anything else as well? Or will you wake up wondering why we were friends and why you should waste any more time on such an insufferable, priggish, obsessive, prissy—"

"Wait. Stop right there. Why would you think I'd write any of that?"

"Please, we don't have time to pretend. I just want to know."

"I wrote nothing of the sort." She didn't look satisfied. He wondered what she would think if he told her that fully half of the parchment he'd turned over to Ginny was devoted to her. Yes, he'd written about her obsessive nature where schoolwork was concerned. Her seriousness, her dogged, single-minded determination. Those weren't things he found annoying though, not anymore. They were all part of her, and he loved her.

"I know that being friends with me isn't as easy for you as being friends with Harry is."

She was right about that one. It had been bloody hard to limit himself to being her friend once he'd realized his feelings for her weren't going to fade away. He'd hoped Lavender would burn her out of his memory, but he couldn't have been more misguided on that one.

"It's different with us than it is with me and Harry. Of course it is. You and Harry are different people," he said, trying to make her see what he meant without actually telling her.

"You're avoiding the question."

"Well, I'm no treat either. You weren't fighting with yourself all these years. Should I be afraid of what you've written about me?"

"Of course not. Why would I be worried about the horrible things you might have written about me if I'd done the same to you?"

"I don't know!" he yelled, but found himself somewhat relieved to have an outlet for his frustration. "I obviously don't know what you might have put in your letter."

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding close to tears. "I wouldn't have asked if I knew it would make you upset. I obviously shouldn't have made things worse than—"

"Things aren't worse, Hermione," he said, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her into his chest before he really thought about what he was doing. "I didn't write anything horrible about you. I wrote about why I _am_ your friend. Not why I shouldn't be."

"And why is that?"

He indulged in rolling his eyes. As long as she couldn't see him, he was safe.

"Because you're brave. You're brilliant. You help people when they need it. You care about the things that are really important, not just the things that are easy or popular to care about. And I think the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw because it knew how much Harry and I needed you. Even before we did ourselves."

"Ron, you didn't write all that, you couldn't—"

"I did." He held her closer, indulging in this moment for as long as she allowed it to last.

"You won't really know me," she said, a bit sadly. "That's not who I am."

"It is to me."

He wanted to much to tell her, to say the rest and let her see how he'd fallen in love with her. He considered it, in one long, exhilarating moment.

He knew he couldn't go through with it, though. He couldn't take the chance that it would ruin everything, not when they had something so important to do.

"I didn't write anything horrible about you either," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. "It was just—"

"I don't need to know, Hermione. If it's what you wanted yourself to know about me, that's all I need to hear."

"I did write that you love Quidditch a little too much, though. You don't mind, do you?"

He laughed, and she joined him. It felt good, even if he knew the moment wouldn't last. He looked down at her, the way she laid her head against his chest. He bent his head down and gave her what he hoped was a chaste kiss just at her hairline, holding his breath as he waited for her reaction.

Her arms tightened around his waist, and he could have sworn he felt her snuggle closer against him. In fact, there were parts of his body which were now painfully aware of how far apart they were, or rather, how far apart they weren't. He took several deep breaths and tried desperately to calm himself. It was only when he let his mind stray to the rather sobering thought that he would never remember this moment a few days from now that he found his problem beginning to recede.

"We should get back," he said, feeling a reluctance he hoped didn't come through in his voice.

"Yes," Hermione agreed and pulled away from him. He still felt warm everywhere her body had touched his.

They walked back, talking very little, although Ron wasn't uncomfortable in the silence the way he'd been on the way out. Her hand occasionally brushed his as she swung her arm, and it was enough to keep him occupied for the few minutes it took them to reach the castle and thread their way through it toward Gryffindor Tower.

When they reached Ron's door, she reached out and squeezed his hand once, tightly, before she turned and left him to disappear up the stairs and into her own room.

He stood there for a few moments, then nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a tap on his shoulder.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry emerged from his Invisibility Cloak seconds later, and Ron wanted to throttle him.

"Blimey, Harry. I didn't even know you were in the castle."

"Sorry," Harry said, not looking sorry at all.

"Please tell me that you haven't been with us the entire time."

"What, you didn't want me out on the grounds with you and Hermione?" At Ron's glare, he put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No, of course not. I was waiting like this for you in the common room. Someone had to make sure you and Hermione got back safely."

"I made sure we got back safely."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at this. "I'm not sure Hermione would be altogether chuffed at you hinting that she can't take care of herself, do you?"

Ron sensed that Harry needed to talk, so he opened the door to his room and pushed his friend through it.

"Well?" Harry said, once they were inside.

Ron was truly at a loss, and only goggled at Harry in response.

"Did you tell her?" Harry demanded. "All that time alone, moment of truth ... did you do it?"

Ron sighed. He thought they'd been all through this.

"Course not, Harry. I told you I wasn't going to."

"I was hoping you changed your mind. It's not too late to change your letters."

"It is for tonight. She's upstairs and I can't get to her through the alarms."

"I think the rest of the school would understand. Everyone wants the two of you to just get on with it, you know."

"I had no idea I was so bloody interesting," Ron said, irritably.

"Well, Hermione thinks so."

Ron turned and gave his friend a long, hard look.

"Have you talked to her about it? What has she told you?"

"Oh, and I suppose you'd like it if I told her what you've told me."

Ron was disappointed, but he could hardly expect Harry to betray Hermione's confidence. If there was anything to betray, that is.

"Right. Point taken."

"I have written you both a letter, though. If there's time before—well, I need you to ask Hermione to jinx them and then give them to Ginny. I probably won't see any of you again until it's time for the spell. And before you have a go at me, I haven't said anything specific about anything either of you has ever told me. I just wanted to make sure I could remind you both of some things you may have left out, left to your own devices."

Ron felt like a complete prat. Why hadn't he thought of writing letters to Harry and Hermione?

"My three letters, if you put them together, they're about as much as I've ever written down about anything." Harry continue. "It felt pretty good. I just wish we had another reason for doing it, though."

"Harry," Ron began, hesitantly. "Are you prepared? You know, for after we begin the spell? I know you've been working with Lupin ... "

"Yeah," Harry said, hesitantly. Ron knew Harry didn't want to talk about it, but he had to know that the plan didn't end at Hermione's spell. "I haven't been able to really try it. I don't have enough power for it on my own."

Ron held up a hand. "That's enough, mate. If you think it will work, that's all I need to know."

"I won't let us do all this for nothing. I'm not going to let you down."

"I never thought you would. It's just—well, I wanted to make sure you were getting all the help you need, since the two of us can't be there with you."

"That's just it. I can't face Voldemort alone, and I won't be. I _will_ have both of you with me and Voldemort won't even know it."

"We'll still be mates, won't we?" Ron felt ridiculous asking the question, but it had been hanging between them during the entire conversation and he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Ron, you were my friend before we even got on the train first year. Things might be different, but we'll still be friends."

He didn't know what to say in return. Everything sounded too sappy in his head, or too pompous, like something that poncey git Percy would say. Harry didn't seem to expect him to say anything back, which is probably why they were such good mates in the first place.

"Do you have any idea when—"

"I think it'll be tomorrow. I don't know how I know. I just—it's hard to describe. I feel awake, even though I should be exhausted."

"So what you came here to tell me was—"

"If there's anything you want to do before ... do it now. I have to go. There's a few more things I need to do myself."

"Any of those have something to do with my sister?" Ron asked, wondering if his hunch would pay off.

"Ron, I—"

"Just don't hurt her." _Again_ , Ron thought silently.

"Do you think she still—"

"Yes," Ron said without hesitation.

"I have to find her before she goes up to her dormitory and it's too late."

Ron would have laughed at the exaggerated expression of panic on Harry's face if he didn't feel largely the same way about Hermione himself. If someone had told Ron three years ago that both he and Harry would be nearly insane over two girls they'd known since they were eleven, he would have told them to shut it.

"Get out of here, Harry. What in bloody hell are you waiting for?"

Harry turned, picking up his cloak from where he'd draped it over Ron's chair, and barreled through the door. Watching the two of them dance around each other at Bill's wedding had been difficult. If he could finally see his sister happy again, that alone would make all of this worth it.

It was the sight of his quill and ink pot on his desk that brought him back to reality. He had two more letters to write, possibly harder than the first, and that was hard to imagine.


	7. Chapter 7

The three of them sat in a circle with Professor McGonagall and Remus Lupin looking on. Ron felt more than a little self-conscious trying to cast the most important spell of his life with the two of them looking on. 

The wards on the castle had been removed. Voldemort wouldn't miss that signal. They would fight on the Hogwarts grounds for the second time. The final time. Hermione read the look on his face right away.

"We'll be fine, Ron," she reassured him, reaching over to pat his hand.

"Yeah, all right there, Ron?" Harry said, and Ron was astounded to see Harry giving him a little smirk.

If Harry could smile, even for a moment, before going off to face Voldemort alone, then the least Ron could do is set aside his own anxiety and concentrate.

"Yeah, all right. You?" Ron said, his mind still reeling at the impossibility of the moment.

"I _am_ fine," Harry said, seeming a bit surprised. "It's going to be over tonight," he said, his voice firm and confident, and Ron finally understood the lightness in Harry's mood. Harry must already feel the weight lifting from his shoulders, one way or the other.

"Are we ready?" Hermione asked, her eyes glinting with tears.

"Just a second," Ron said, feeling a surge of courage. "There's something I want to do. For luck."

He leaned forward, catching a glimpse of Harry's mouth falling open before he focused on Hermione's eyes. Ron closed his eyes at the last moment, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on her cheek, close to the corner of her mouth. The look of delighted shock Hermione wore as he pulled away made Ron's heart leap, and then fall again when he remembered he'd only found the courage to do it because he knew they would both have forgotten it before the night was over.

Harry and Hermione were staring at him now, Hermione still wearing her look of surprise and Harry giving him a bemused smile. It was only then that Ron remembered Lupin and McGonagall were watching as well.

_Merlin, what was I thinking? Hermione's probably about to absolutely murder—_

His thoughts were interrupted when Hermione suddenly leaned forward and took his face into her hands, pulling it toward hers. Their lips met, and it was both nothing and exactly what he'd thought it would be. The kiss felt a bit uncertain at first, but they soon found the right angle, the right pressure, and Ron was utterly lost.

She was amazing. Her lips were soft against his, but she didn't merely yield to him. She challenged him, just as she did in one of their rows, moving against him in a way that put some altogether different ideas into his head.

He knew Hermione would kill him if she knew, but he couldn't help comparing her to Lavender. Lavender didn't come off well in that particular fight.

Distantly, he heard Harry clearing his throat, trying to bring them back to reality. Ron wanted to swat the sound away like a gnat, but Hermione seemed to take it more seriously. She moved her hands away from his face and to his chest, then pushed the two of them apart. She gave him a shy look as he stared back, breathing hard and trying to get a grip on his runaway imagination.

"Where's mine?" Harry asked. 

"Over my dead body," Ron said. "She's not kissing anyone but me."

"Sod her, Ron. I was talking about you," Harry said, though his look of seriousness cracked halfway through. Hermione's eyes widened for a moment before, impossibly, she giggled.

Ron couldn't believe Harry could make a joke now, of all times, but he couldn't deny the feeling of relief it brought. Suddenly, it seemed as though everything would be all right. He could almost believe it, that they'd find some way to fix it all just as they always had before.

"Honestly, Hermione. Can't you take anything seriously?" Ron said, just as she seemed to be pulling herself together. It absolutely torpedoed her efforts to regain her composure.

All three of them laughed, helplessly doubling over in hysterics, although Ron stopped just for a moment when he felt Hermione grab his hand. He felt a little disappointed when he saw that she'd taken Harry's as well until Hermione took her hand away from Harry's to wipe tears away from her eyes. He felt her squeeze his hand a little, and then rub her thumb along his skin, back and forth.

"We have to start," Hermione said, trying to affect her usual, regal manner.

They nodded at each other and with one last squeeze, Hermione let Ron's hand go so she could take up her wand.

They began, each of them saying part of the incantation and completing the steps of the complex ritual demanded by the ancient spell. Ron nearly forgot the words to his bit, but his wand glowed red just as it was supposed to and he felt the prickling sensation throughout his body that indicated his portion had been done correctly. 

Each of them had to take a drink of a potion made for them by Professor Slughorn and Ron couldn't help but give it a hateful look before he took his turn. The git probably still didn't know Ron's name. At Hermione's disapproving frown, he shrugged and took his sip, nearly spitting it out when the awful taste hit his tongue.

It was only seconds before Ron began to feel sleepy and the room began to spin around him. Hermione had warned him something like this would happen, but it was quite horrible nonetheless. As the two of them gave their strength and power to Harry, they would lapse quickly into near unconsciousness. He was dimly aware of Lupin urging Harry to his feet and leading him away, and he used his last truly lucid thought to reflect on the odd sensation that he could feel part of himself leaving with Harry.

He could see things, things he assumed had something to do with where Harry was. Flashes of light, images of blurry trees streaking past as Harry ran into the Forbidden Forest. Ron felt as though he was floating, and time seemed to ebb and flow around him. Some of the images seemed to last forever, while others flashed past him so quickly that he couldn't make them out. 

He felt a dull pain in his right arm, which confused him until he realized that Harry had leapt to the ground to avoid something. Ron's hand twitched involuntarily, looking for his wand so he could defend himself. He felt Harry stand up and raise his wand, turning to face the caster of the spell that had forced him to the ground.

Ron heard Hermione gasp and his attention was torn away from the Forbidden Forest. She sounded so far away, but he knew they were in the same room. Weren't they? It didn't feel like it. He felt so far away from her.

He knew Harry was moving again, this time with purpose, toward something. There was someone with him, someone else helping them. Ron tried to concentrate, tried to make out who it was. Just as a nearly clear image formed in his mind, he felt confidence, a surge of hope. He sensed confusion from his enemy ... surprise ... shock ... fear. It was all right. Everything was going to work out the way they'd planned. Ron was flooded with relief, giving himself over to it. It felt wonderful.

Just as he began to relax, the pain returned, but worse. It felt as though someone was tearing him into pieces, like he was being attacked by something intent on pulling him apart. He heard a moan and didn't know if it came from him or from someone else.

Ron hoped he was taking most of the pain. He couldn't bear the thought of Hermione going through this as well. And Harry ... what did this mean? Had they failed? Was that what the pain meant?

He heard Hermione's voice in his mind and for a crazy moment, he thought she'd found some way to communicate with him. He listened to her as she explained that the last stages of the spell would be painful for the two of them.

"Don't tell Harry," she'd told him. "He might have second thoughts if he knew."

They'd had this conversation earlier in the day, he realized through his haze. The pain was supposed to happen. It didn't mean they were losing, it just meant that Harry needed more from them.

He heard a scream that he knew was Hermione's. Though the effort took every bit of strength he had left, he forced his eyes open to find her.

She was a few meters away from him, curled into herself on her side, her hands covering her face. Another wave of pain came over him, but he fought it this time. He had to get to her, and nothing was going to stand in his way.

His arms and legs didn't seem to work very well, but he did the best he could to drag himself along the floor and bring himself closer to her. Every movement was pure agony, but it didn't matter. They could get through this together and still help Harry.

He finally reached her, curling his body around hers as best he could. He took her into his arms, trying to fight the images and the pain long enough to comfort her. Her hands were cold in his and she wasn't moving at all, other than the constant shudder that ran the length of her body.

Another wave through him and he could feel it going through her as well. It wasn't just a burst this time. It remained, pulsing and moving, but not subsiding as it had before. There was something new with it this time. Ron tried to concentrate on what was different, trying to think of the word to describe it.

He got flashes of himself doing a loop on his broom at the end of the first Quidditch match he'd played well in, the moment his first prefect badge fell out of his Hogwarts letter, then a memory of shaking Professor McGonagall's hand after beating her at Wizard's Chess several months before.

Triumph. That was what it was. They'd won. Relief. Exhaustion. It all swirled through his head until he couldn't separate the ideas from each other. He was so tired. If he could just get a few minutes of sleep, he could make more sense of things.

_Just a few minutes_ , he thought, as his head dropped to the ground and everything went black.


	8. Chapter 8

" _Ennervate_ ," Ron heard, and he suddenly felt some strength returning. He blinked and looked up into the eyes of Remus Lupin.

"Ron?" Lupin said, hesitantly. "Do you know where you—"

"Where's Hermione? Where's Harry? Are they all right?" Ron tried to get up and look around, but Lupin placed his hand on Ron's chest to hold him in place.

"Merlin's wand, Ron. You remember everything, don't you?"

"Does that mean we failed?" Ron asked, afraid to hear the answer. Lupin hadn't answered him about Harry and Hermione and he had a terrible feeling about it.

"No, you didn't. Harry faced and defeated Voldemort, and then came out of the forest to help with the remaining Death Eaters. Those who hadn't already run in fear, that is. We got most of them."

"So, Harry's all right then?" Ron thought he might go mad if Lupin didn't tell him where his friends were soon.

"He collapsed at the end of the battle, Ron. He's been rushed to St. Mungo's. Before you get too upset, I believe he will recover. It's most likely a temporary side effect of the spell the three of you performed."

"And Hermione?" Ron pressed.

"We couldn't _Ennervate_ her, Ron. She's still alive, but she hasn't regained consciousness either. Again, I think it's just a side effect and she needs some time and rest. Professor McGonagall has already taken her to St. Mungo's. I was about to give up on trying to wake you as well, when you finally responded."

"Why did I wake up when they didn't?" Ron asked aloud, although he'd meant to keep that particular question to himself. He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew why, but just couldn't remember. He tried to concentrate through the pounding inside his skull, but he couldn't quite grasp it.

"Ron, we should get you to the Healers as well. I can help you up, just put your arm on my shoulder and we can go—"

"No! Wait." Ron couldn't leave here until he remembered. He felt as though it would be gone forever if he didn't figure it out before he got up.

He finally remembered—Hermione's scream, how the sound of her terrified voice had forced his eyes open and forced him to move.

"I broke my concentration," he confessed. "I heard her. She was in pain. I fought the spell and went to her. Why did you let me do something so reckless? Why didn't someone stop me?"

"Minerva nearly did, but she decided to hold back. We don't know enough about the spell. If she'd stopped you, she might have truly broken it. It's such ancient magic that none of us knew what to expect. What you did may have been part of it."

"But I remember everything," he raved. "And I'm awake. Harry and Hermione may never wake up, and even if they do, their memories are probably gone. And I—I was selfish. I pulled back."

"You went to a friend who was in pain, someone the spell had bound you to. No one can tell you that what you did was wrong."

"But I—"

"But nothing," Lupin said in a hard voice, suddenly looking stern. It was so atypical of the mild-mannered wizard that Ron was dumbstruck. "No more arguing. You're going to St. Mungo's."

Ron nodded, gulping and then wincing as he felt the dryness of his throat.

"You'll feel better once you see your friends. I think they'll be awake in no time," Lupin continued, much gentler this time.

Ron allowed himself to be led to the hospital wing, wondering how they would be traveling.

"It isn't very well known, but Madam Pince has a special connection to the Floo network, one of the few fireplaces that will let you inside St. Mungo's," Lupin explained, as he offered a container of powder to Ron and nodded significantly at the fireplace.

Ron took a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the fire, carefully shouting the full name of their destination just to be sure he arrived where he'd intended instead of somewhere else. He smiled a bit in spite of his nausea from the spinning as he remembered Harry's first use of Floo powder and how a few misspoken words had deposited him in Knockturn Alley. He laughed a little, then turned deadly serious when it occurred to him that Harry would probably never remember that day again. 

After twisting around for what seemed like forever, Ron found himself in the lobby of the hospital, surrounded by staff in lime green robes and worried-looking people pacing and wringing their hands.

"Mr. Weasley," a wizened-looking witch said, and Ron's head whipped around in surprise. "Don't look so shocked, young man. We've been expecting you."

She hustled him out of the lobby and past many people whispering behind their hands to each other at his sudden arrival. He waited for a moment for Lupin to emerge from the fireplace, but it soon occurred to Ron that Lupin must have had more work ahead of him back at Hogwarts.

"What are all those people looking at?" Ron asked before he could help himself.

"Well, I don't want to give you a big head, but there's not a witch or a wizard in Britain who hasn't heard of what you've accomplished in the last few hours."

"What Harry and Hermione accomplished, you mean," he said, just under his breath.

"What was that, dear?" she said, as she eased him into a floating chair, then waved her wand at it to start it toward the staircase.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Where are we going?"

"Well, the fourth floor of course. Spell Damage. Although, you don't look much the worse for wear to me. Your friends are there." She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "We have strict orders from the Ministry to keep the three of you together for security purposes, so you'll be sharing the same room. At least for now. Normally we wouldn't leave two young boys in with such an attractive young witch, but Minister Scrimgeour assured us—"

"You've nothing to worry about. We're just friends." _Because I did nothing until it was too late, and I'm a git for it_ , he added in his own mind. Hermione would never remember their kiss.

"Well, during your recuperation at least, you will be. Don't you worry. We'll see to that." She winked at him.

"Are they awake yet?"

"No, dear. I think Mr. Potter may be recovering soon, but your Miss Granger may still be out for a while yet." She frowned at him. "Don't look so grave, dear. They'll wake soon enough. They just need more rest. They're quite stable otherwise."

Ron finally remembered why the Spell Damage floor was so familiar to him. 

"We're nowhere near that gi—er, my former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockheart, are we?"

"Heavens, no. Your room is in the short term ward. As honored as we are to have the three of you here, we won't be keeping you away from school any longer than necessary. If I'm not mistaken, you'll have your NEWTs in a few months."

Ron wanted to laugh. Did she really think that NEWTs would matter to them after this?

_They'll matter to Hermione_ , he thought. Ron wasn't sure that any obliteration of her memory would erase her need to get the highest recorded NEWT scores that Hogwarts had ever seen.

"Er, Healer, er," Ron stammered, realizing he didn't know the elderly witch's name.

"Healer's Assistant Aldwyn, Mr. Weasley. But that's quite a mouthful, isn't it? You can just call me Aldwyn."

Ron twisted around in his chair and saw her smiling back at him.

"I'd really like it if you'd call me Ron. Every time you call me 'Mr. Weasley' I think my father must be here."

His escort laughed a bit, nodding at him.

"Absolutely, Ron. I think I'm going to like having you and your friends here. Hopefully not for too long." She had a sparkle in her eyes. "Perhaps long enough to liven things up around here, do you think?"

"We'll have to see," Ron said, feeling suddenly much more tired than he'd thought possible. "We may have had enough excitement for a bit."

"It's a good thing you're here then, isn't it?" 

She waved her wand at the door in front of them and it swung open. Ron immediately saw Hermione lying flat and motionless in a bed just across the room from the doorway. His heart sunk when he saw her pale skin and the way her chest barely moved with shallow breaths. He wanted to go to her and shake her until she woke up, but he knew it was no good. He finally had to tear his eyes away from her. 

He craned his neck to find Harry deeper inside the room, back in the corner on the same wall as Hermione's bed. He had a long, red scratch on his forehead, cross-crossing his scar, and seemed to be in the same state as Hermione.

"Are they really—"

"They're resting. I can't tell you when they'll wake up, but I honestly believe they will, and soon. You should believe it too. They could use your positive thoughts." 

"They can use more than that," Ron whispered, staring at Hermione again. "The Healers are doing everything they can, aren't they?"

"We have to wait for them to wake up on their own. The Healers can't be sure what the proper treatment should be until then."

"No!" Ron yelled, crazily hoping that Hermione would lift her head from the pillow and complain about the noise he was making. "There has to be something they can do. They saved so many people, and this is the thanks they get? A bunch of wizards in green coats sitting on their hands and waiting for them to get better all on their own?"

"Please," she said, gently laying her hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. "They won't know what the right course is until they awaken and the extent of the damage can be assessed. I know it's hard to wait, but that's what you have to do."

Ron wanted to keep fighting her, but he let his sense win out over his impatience and temper. _Hermione would be proud of me_ , he thought.

"I'm sorry," he told Aldwyn. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine. You're not the first upset patient I've dealt with, I'll have you know." She bustled to the front of the chair as she hovered it near the only remaining bed in the large, sterile-looking room. "Now, do you need some help getting out of the chair? I'm quite adept with a _Mobilicorpus_ spell, I assure you."

"No, I can do it on my own," he insisted, and she laughed a bit.

"How did I know you would insist on that? Well, get on with it."

He struggled against the chair and found it surprisingly difficult to lever himself away from it. The muscles in his arms burned as though he'd been tossing gnomes from his mother's garden for hours and he still felt a bit queasy from his trip through the Floo network.

"You're not very good at accepting help, are you?" she observed.

Ron's eyes closed and he remembered the hundreds of times he'd gone to Hermione with an essay in his hands, pleading with her to help him with it. Going to her never made him feel uncomfortable or weak, the way taking help from anyone else did. He wasn't sure what it was about her that made it so easy for him to rely on her. Maybe it was her strength, or her steadfast belief that he could excel just as she did if he only applied himself. Since fourth year, perhaps he was merely looking for excuses to spend more time with her. He was just too much of a prat to realize it until it was too late.

"I've been able to see reason before," he said, not opening his eyes so he could continue to see Hermione's exasperated face, that look she gave him when he came to her at the last minute with pleas for help. "Perhaps you're right. I could use your help."

She was kind enough not to say anything other than the incantation of the spell, and he soon felt himself floating gently away from the chair and onto the bed. She pulled a pair of hospital pajamas out of a drawer and pulled the curtains around him so he could change in private.

Ron struggled out of his clothes and into the soft cotton of the pajamas, then pulled the bedcovers over himself before he told Aldwyn he was done. Soon he was lying back against the pillows, trying not to look at the two friends he'd failed earlier that day.

_If I'd concentrated and done my part, would they be awake now? Will they ever wake up?_

He couldn't shake the thoughts away. When Aldwyn brought him a Sleeping Draught, he took it without complaint for the first time in his life. As he swallowed the last bit, he welcomed the utter blackness that took over his mind as his head lolled to the side.


	9. Chapter 9

"Mum, he's fine. The Healer's Assistant said he was conscious when Lupin brought him in. The only reason he's still asleep is because of the Sleeping Draught." 

Ron distantly recognized his sister's voice and realized she was trying to comfort their mum. He tried to struggle against the potion and awaken, but he couldn't quite manage it yet.

"It's just that he looks so pale. And look at Harry and Hermione. I simply can't—"

"Molly, dear," Ron's father's voice interrupted his wife. "We worried before the battle whether they would survive at all. They're all still here, and they're getting the best care available. We should be celebrating. They're going to be fine."

"I'll believe that when he wakes up and talks back to me," Ron's mum sniffed back. "If he remembers me at all."

There was an uneasy silence, and Ron realized he had to fight against the effects of the draught and tell his mother he was just fine.

"Even if he doesn't remember, Mum, I've got his letter right here. I'm sure he'll know us again eventually." There was certainty on the surface of Ginny's voice, but Ron could her the hint of a tremor in it.

"Oi, Ginny ... Mum," Ron said, surprised at how scratchy and small his voice sounded. "Can you keep the racket down? Some of us are trying to sleep here."

He opened one eye to peer at them and saw the emotions flash over their faces. Shock, confusion, disbelief, then relief. It was odd to see how very much like her mother Ginny could be at times when she was quite often nothing like her at all.

"Ron?" Ginny said, as though she was testing him. "So you remember everything?"

"I don't remember much of the spell, and I don't remember who led the Goblin Rebellion of 1368, but I pretty much remember everything else," he said, trying to keep his voice light to make sure his family would know there was no reason to worry about him any longer. They didn't need to know about the mistake he'd made during the spell, or how Hermione and Harry would likely not be as lucky and he had been. He certainly didn't have the courage to tell his mum that everything his two best friends were going through right now was his fault.

"Oh, Ron," his mother exclaimed, throwing her arms around him, chokingand suffocating him at the same time.

"Molly, be careful. He's had a difficult few days and I hardly think he'd benefit from you smothering him, dear," Ron's father said evenly.

His mother pulled away, brushing his messy hair from his forehead.

"Now, what about Harry and Hermione?" Ginny asked, glancing at the two beds on the opposite wall. "Have they been awake yet? I've got their letters with me, just in case." Her expression brightened before she continued. "But the three of you may not need them at all! Look at you, you came through just fine. Maybe we were wrong about the spell."

Ron shook his head, feeling miserable. He wanted to admit that it was all his fault, that his selfishness had left him in much better condition than his friends.

"I don't think so, Ginny," was all he could manage to say. "I seem to be reacting to it a bit differently than they are."

"Well, where are the Healers? They should be here tending to them, after what they've been through," Ron's mum sniffed.

"There's nothing they can do until Harry and Hermione wake up," Ron said, wondering when he had gained the courage to contradict his mum. "Nothing to do but wait."

"Well, that's ridiculous," she answered, walking toward Harry's bed. "There has to be something."

Ron gave his father a pleading look. Although he did love his mum quite a bit, he wasn't sure he could endure her boundless energy at this particular moment. Especially not when he was just as angry as she was that the Healers couldn't seem to help his friends.

"Molly, why don't we give Ginny some time with her brother alone? I'm sure they have some things to talk about."

Ron was quite glad he wasn't his father after he saw the look of annoyance his mum was giving him.

"But he's only just woken up, and—"

"We can give the two of them some time while we visit Kingsley and Tonks," his father insisted.

"Wait a moment," Ron said. "What's wrong with them?"

"Nothing too serious. They were injured in the battle," Ginny assured him. "They'll be all right. Madame Pomfrey was sure of it."

"Oh, all right then. I did promise Remus I would check in on Tonks while I was here," Ron's mum relented. "He hasn't been able to spend as much time here as he'd like. Full moon coming up, you know. We'll be back in a bit," she said to Ron, as she leaned over to put a wet kiss onto his forehead.

When they were gone, Ginny turned to him with a look of hope in her eyes.

"So, you remember. Do you think that means that Harry and Hermione—"

"I don't know," Ron said, miserably.

"Should I leave their letters with you just in case I'm not here when they wake up?"

A wave of panic came over him as he thought about those letters and what his friends would read there once they regained consciousness. When they'd written them, they'd assumed all three of them wouldn't remember the past. What would happen when they read about their pasts and then were faced with a friend who remembered it all? He would be a reminder of everything they'd lost, and they'd feel forced into fitting back into their old lives with him.

"Ron! Are you listening to me?" Ginny said, with a bit of irritation. 

Ron looked over at Hermione and remembered the kiss. She must have had feelings for him ... he'd been sure of it as they sat in their circle hours ago, back at the castle. Had she written about it? Was it in that parchment, waiting for her to read it?

How would she react, knowing that she felt something for him but remembered none of it? Surely she'd ask him about it, and he knew he couldn't lie to her about how he felt about her in return. She'd feel trapped, both by him and by her own message to herself.

He looked at both of his friends. Who would they be, without their memories? Would they grow into different people? Happier people? Wouldn't it be better if Harry never remembered those years of being hounded by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, by his years with the Dursleys? He'd had to watch as Sirius and Dumbledore were killed. Who wouldn't want to leave those memories behind?

And Hermione, surely she deserved the chance to start over without having to remember everything she'd endured for her friends. If she fell in love with him again, that was one thing, but he couldn't let her assume she'd feel the same way about him now, without any memory of their friendship.

"Please don't give them those letters yet," Ron pleaded, and Ginny's eyes grew wide. "Let them wake up and start to heal first. They may not even be the same now as they were before."

"I thought that was the purpose of the letters in the first place, Ron. So that each of you could remember what was important. So you _could_ be the same."

"Yeah, well ... we didn't know one of us would remember everything. They'll feel strange around me, like I'm expecting them to be what we were."

"Aren't you hoping for that?" Ginny said, her eyes filling with tears. "Don't you want them to be the people they were?"

"Of course I do, but I think we can wait a bit. Let the shock wear off."

"I don't want to sodding wait—!" Ginny said, raising her voice and sounding a bit hysterical. "I've been waiting for a year." She turned and looked straight at Harry's motionless body. "Harry told me he wanted us to be together again. He told me he'd put it in his letter, because he didn't want to forget. If you think I'm going to lose him, Ronald Bilius, you have another thing coming."

"Ginny, I didn't know. I hadn't thought—"

"No, I know precisely what you're thinking. You think you have the right to decide for them. Well, not for Harry, you don't." Ginny pulled the parchments out of the bag she was carrying and rifled through them. "Here, this is the one Harry wrote to himself. I'm going to leave it by his bed, and I expect you to tell him what it is. I'll hold the rest ... for now. At least until Hermione's awake." Ginny glared at him as she waved another parchment at him. "I wouldn't make any bets on how long I'll remain patient though, brother of mine. I'll give you some time after she wakes up, but I won't keep these from her forever. She wanted to know these things and Harry wanted her to know some things as well. You don't have the right to keep them from her."

Ginny stuffed the rest of her handful of wrapped-up scrolls into her bag, turned, and left without saying another word. She hadn't even bothered to wipe away the tears that began to run down her face.

That was Ginny, though. All action, no hesitation. He wasn't sure she possessed the ability or the inclination to second-guess herself. Whether it was something relatively harmless like sending ill-timed valentines or extremely dangerous like spilling her secrets into a diary before she understood what it was or what power it had, she never seemed to spend more than a moment or so in deliberation.

Ron wished it was a Weasley trait they shared, but it seemed to him as though the twins and Ginny had taken his share. His instincts had once told him to befriend a quiet, lonely-looking boy on the Hogwarts Express, but that was the only time he could recall trusting his gut feelings completely.

Well, the only time he had come off the better for it, anyway.

He looked at Hermione and tried to be honest with himself. If she _had_ written that she had feelings for him, she wouldn't spend a moment of rebuilding her life without trying to understand what they'd been to each other.

The thought terrified him, and he finally began to understand why. All of his daydreams about Hermione were perfect. She always loved him back, trusted him, wanted him the way he wanted her. He didn't make daft mistakes to drive her away. Their noses never bumped when he kissed her and he knew just where to touch her to make her gasp. Harry never felt left out, and every image in his head was of Hermione, happy and smiling at him.

Voldemort was gone. Harry and Hermione could wake up to the world they'd made safe and relearn who they were and what they wanted from this new life they'd been given. If Hermione read, in her own handwriting, that she was in love with Ron, they might very well have run out of excuses to see what they'd be like together.

She'd be so fragile and Ron honestly didn't trust himself not to bugger things up with her. That letter she'd written to herself and the letter that Harry had written to her were waiting out there, possibly bringing the complete destruction of everything Ron had ever wanted when it came to his love for his best friend.

His gaze slid to Harry, the only person who'd silently understood how Ron felt and kept it to himself to spare Ron's pride. Just when he needed a mate to give him advice or even just listen to him rant, Ron had lost him as well.

His eyes widened as Harry began to stir, just a little at first, but then more violently. He sat up a bit, then his head fell back down to the pillow, his arms flailing wildly at his sides.

Ron was up before he knew what he was doing, wincing at the pain that coursed through his body. He felt suddenly weak, realizing how much the spell had taken out of him as he tried to move.

He made it to the door and opened it, stumbling into the hallway when his legs seemed to stop working properly. He yelled for the only person he knew might be able to help, though he hadn't seen her in hours and he assumed her shift had ended.

"Aldwyn!" he bellowed, his voice echoing back to him in the hallway outside their room. He took a few more uncertain steps, looking for anyone who could help him.

"Mr. Weasley!"

Ron whirled around, paying for it with a sudden rush of dizziness. It wasn't Aldwyn, but a surprised-looking young woman wearing that St. Mungo's shade of green he'd already grown weary of.

"You shouldn't be out of your bed," she scolded, coming to his side and holding him up as best she could.

"Harry," he stammered, fighting the lightness in his head. "He's—"

"I'll get you back into your bed, and then we can talk about the other patients, all right?"

"He's moving," Ron managed to say between gasps.

"Come on," she said, with a new determination. Though he knew he must outweigh the young witch by at least four stone, she hustled him quickly back through the door and settled him into his bed before she rushed forward to examine Harry.

To Ron's great frustration, she took one look back at Ron's desperate face and gave him an apologetic look before she pulled the curtains around Harry's bed.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, furious that anyone would shut him out from whatever was happening to Harry. "You can't do this! I have to know what's happening to him!"

Ron screamed at the top of his lungs now, not caring about disturbing other patients, until another Healer's Assistant came into the room, waved her wand at him, and quite effectively Silenced him.

"Please calm down," she said, her voice maddeningly even as she pressed him back into his pillow. "I can use a spell to bind you here, but I'm hoping that won't be necessary."

Ron tried to speak before he realized the futility of it. He stopped struggling against her and he felt her hands relax a bit. She gave him a weak smile and he realized she meant him no harm. He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. If he wasn't mistaken, she seemed quite relieved.

"I really didn't want to be accused of attacking one of the three heroes of the wizarding world," she told him in a stage whisper, before she released him from the jinx.

"Why did she pull that curtain? What is she doing to Harry?"

"I know you're very good friends, but it is St. Mungo's policy to give patients complete privacy during examinations or treatments of any kind. Surely you don't want us to overlook that rule once your young friend Miss Granger awakens, do you?"

"But he's all right, isn't he?"

"I can go and look, if you'd like. She would have called for assistance if there was anything terribly wrong with him, though."

"Please, find something out for me," he said, pleading with her. His friends just had to be all right, or it was all his fault.

"I'll be right back." She patted his fist where he'd balled it over the bedcovers and he relaxed just a fraction as he watched her cross the room.

She was only behind the curtain for a moment before she emerged, looking just optimistic enough that he almost allowed his hopes to raise.

"Well?" he demanded.

"It appears we can begin real treatments for Mr. Potter quite soon. He's regaining consciousness and he seems quite stable so far."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. Harry would be all right. He just had to be.


	10. Chapter 10

Ron found himself impatiently staring at Harry's closed bed curtains again the next day, but with much more optimism this time. He'd even heard Harry's voice a few times. It was too quiet to make out the words, but one of his friends was quite definitely awake.

Aldwyn bustled into the room with yet another horrible-tasting potion for Ron to drink. He held it near his lips until he had a better idea.

"I'll make you a deal," he said, winking at her. Something about her coaxed a good mood from him even when he felt absolutely horrible. He supposed that's why she made such a successful Healer's Assistant.

"I'm not usually accustomed to negotiating with my patients, but as you're my favorite, I'll hear you out."

"I'll drink this in exchange for some information about Harry. They won't tell me anything. That bloody curtain's been pulled since I woke up this morning. He's my best mate, and I know he's conscious. I just want to know what they think is wrong with him, if he's going to be all right, and when I can talk to him."

"Ah, so you think that using that charm of yours is enough to persuade me to give you information that could get me sacked, do you?"

"Aldwyn, I don't want to you be sacked," he said, giving a reasonable performance as someone who'd given up and was about to take his potion like a model patient. "I suppose I can sit here and try to heal while I worry myself sick about Harry. It'll be good for me ... teach me some self-restraint."

_Something Hermione always told me I was sorely lacking_ , he thought, sadly.

He had the edge of the potion vial at his lips for the second time and was about to tip his head back when Aldwyn stopped him with a hand on his arm and a deep sigh.

"You take that and I'll see what I can find out. _Without_ getting sacked," she added, raising her eyebrows a bit. "Do we have an agreement?"

"I won't even gag," he promised.

"I'll believe that one when I see it," she said, turning her back to him and apparently trusting him to do as he'd promised. He watched with interest as she disappeared behind Harry's bed curtains, knowing she'd bring him something he wouldn't otherwise have been told.

He closed his eyes, pinched his nose with his left hand, and downed the potion as quickly as he could. He couldn't imagine how the potions at St. Mungo's could possibly have been worse. They made Madam Pomfrey's seem like a product of Honeydukes by comparison.

He waited, growing more restless by the moment as long minutes passed without her reappearance. He finally let his head fall back and he stared at the ceiling, which was charmed to change colors over the course of the day. He'd awakened to the bright yellow color that was still there now, but by the afternoon, it would be a light blue. As evening came on, the color would deepen to a much darker blue, reminding him of the night sky over the Quidditch pitch back at Hogwarts. It made him remember the times he'd snuck out in the middle of the night to sit at the base of the goal hoops and think. 

Nearly all of those midnight trips had been made in an attempt to escape from his thoughts of Hermione, so naturally he'd gone to the one place on the grounds where he felt that he could concentrate on something other than his bushy-haired best friend. He'd actually believed he could sit, looking up at the hoops he'd spent many nerve-wracking moments trying to defend, and think only of Quidditch.

Instead, he'd thought about Quidditch ... and Hermione. About his disappointment in fifth year when she'd missed his breakthrough game. About the way he could always pick out her voice, or her face in the stands, as she cheered Gryffindor on. When he closed his eyes, he could still hear her cheering for him, even when she'd believed he was cheating with Harry's luck potion. 

He heard the metallic scrape Harry's bed curtains opening and closing, breaking his daydreaming. Aldwyn was coming toward him and he felt instantly guilty that he'd been thinking about Hermione when it was Harry who had just awoken.

"Well?" he demanded, impatiently.

"He's fine, Ron. The examination's not complete, but his physical condition is now very similar to yours when you were brought in."

"Does that mean that he—"

"Except for his memory," she said, a bit more hesitantly.

Ron's head fell forward and he caught it in his hands, running them through his hair as though he could somehow pull the guilt and pain away with the gesture.

"It is very important that you take this only for what it is. This is only his current condition. He's here to heal and we have no way of knowing if the memory loss is permanent or temporary. With familiar people and things around him, there is every chance that he will regain part or all of his memory."

"I understand," he told her, dully. He wasn't really listening to her. All he knew was that Harry had lost his memory and he, Ron, hadn't. They should all have been going through this together, but they weren't. And it was all his fault.

"Ron," she said, insistently, putting her hand on his chin and pulling his face upward. "It is still very early and he truly can heal. What he will need from you is your confidence that he will get better."

"How much do you know about the spell that we did?"

"I've heard Minerva McGonagall's account of it. When I was assigned to you, the Healers felt I should know what I was dealing with."

"Then you know that we were all supposed to lose our memories."

"That's not what I was told at all. It was my understanding that it was a possibility. A strong possibility, yes, but not a certainty."

In situations like this, Hermione used to wave her hand at him and say, " _Semantics_ ," but Ron had never completely sussed out what that meant. He would have said it to Aldwyn in Hermione's honor, if only he could be sure it was an appropriate thing to say in this case.

"He's like my brother. I would have died for him. What am I supposed to do when he looks at me like I'm a stranger?"

"What did you do when you met him for the first time?"

Ron closed his eyes and tried to think back. "I told him what Chocolate Frogs were. I tried to show off with a spell that didn't work. And he stood up for me before we even really knew each other."

"He's still that person. It's his memories that are gone, not who he really is. Even if he never remembers, he's still that person you've known all this time. You just have to be patient and remind him."

He nodded, trying to let himself hope that Aldwyn was right. He and Harry might still be all right. Even when Ron had spent most of fourth year being a prat to Harry, they'd managed to patch things up. 

Now, Hermione, on the other hand ... Things had always been more complex with her. If she decided that she had no use for him, he could hardly argue with her.

"Does this mean that Hermione will wake up soon?" he asked, trying not to sound too pathetically lovelorn.

"I imagine she won't sleep too much longer, don't you worry. Just focus on Harry for now. She'll come around soon enough."

"Yeah," he said, uncertainly.

"She will. Now," Aldwyn said, in a businesslike manner. "I suggest you take this opportunity to sleep. Mr. Potter's bed curtains won't be open for a few hours, and you need more rest than you seem to think you do."

"Honestly, I'm not tired. I don't do anything. I just lie here."

"On the contrary, you are doing something very important. You are healing. Honestly, I hope your friends aren't as argumentative as you are. I may be too old for this." She was clearly trying to look annoyed but he could see the gleam in her eye.

"They're worse, actually."

"Ah, so as soon as they start fighting me the way you do, we'll know they're getting better then, won't we? Now, as for you not being tired, young man ... I have a potion for that." She frowned at him a bit. "Now, don't pull that face. It's mild, you'll only be out for a few hours. Come on, it'll save you the anticipation of lying here waiting."

He reluctantly took the potion from her, and drank it at her insistent nod.


	11. Chapter 11

Ron sat up groggily, feeling out-of-sorts in the way that only a sleeping potion made him. He glanced at Harry's bed, sitting up quickly when he saw the open bed curtains. Harry's head was back on the pillow, but his eyes were clearly open as he stared up at the ceiling.

"It'll be light blue soon," Ron said, wondering immediately why he'd chosen to begin with something so daft. Harry started, looking at Ron as though he'd never considered that the other people in the room might actually be able to move and speak.

"What will be?" Harry asked, warily.

"The ceiling. It'll only be yellow for the morning. After that, it's light blue. Dark blue at night."

Harry looked up again. "Why?"

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe they think it's restful, or something."

"Who are you?" Harry asked, and Ron's eyes closed involuntarily with pain. He tried to cover it, rubbing his eyelids with his fists as though he was merely trying to wake himself up.

Ron looked at his best mate, the person who'd saved everything and everyone in the entire wizarding world, the brilliant seeker who was in love with Ron's own little sister, and felt like breaking everything he could get his hands on.

Instead, he got quietly out of bed and walked to the chair next to Harry's bed. He sat heavily, trying to decide where he should start.

"The Healers ... have they told you anything?"

"They wouldn't answer any of my questions. They gave me a wand, asked if I remembered how to use it. I did a few spells and they seemed happy."

Ron was relieved to hear that. At least Harry had retained his magical knowledge. Hopefully the same would be true of Hermione as well. Making them start over from scratch would have been just too cruel. Especially in Hermione's case. Who wanted to do all that revising twice?

"They said I'd retained my functional memories, which they told me was a good sign. Sign of what, I don't know. Then they asked me if I knew my name." Harry's head fell back against the pillow again. "They told me it's Harry Potter, but I still don't recognize it. It must be right, though. There's a roll of parchment and a card attached to those flowers here and they both have that name on them."

"About that parchment, Harry ... erm, you don't mind if I call you that?"

"I don't suppose so," Harry said, looking a bit confused. "Might help me get used to it."

"I promise I'll tell you everything. I'll answer any questions you have, but there's something you have to read first. Before we—" Ron stopped himself, not wanting to explain the spell to Harry when he'd probably written about it in his letter. He took a deep breath and began again. "Before you lost your memory, you wrote yourself a letter. It's that roll of parchment. You intended to read it so you could remind yourself of certain things."

"I knew this was going to happen? Why would I do something that I knew would cause me to lose my memory?"

"It's all in the parchment," Ron told him, picking it up and practically forcing it into Harry's hands.

"Who are you?" Harry asked him, then shook his head a little. "Don't tell me, right? It's all in the parchment, yeah?"

"I reckon I'm in there a bit. I'm Ron Weasley."

"Are we ... friends?"

"Yeah," Ron whispered, knowing that one word didn't really cover what the three of them meant to each other, but he didn't know how else to answer.

"What about her?" Harry asked, pointing at Hermione's still form.

"You're friends with her as well. I'm sure you'll read about her. She's Hermione Granger."

"Whatever happened to me, it happened to her as well?"

"Yeah," Ron answered again, his voice breaking a little. Talking to Harry had never been this difficult before. "She'll be awake soon. That's what they keep telling me, at least."

Harry rolled the parchment over and over in his hands. He looked reluctant to open it, and Ron thought he could understand why. Harry had awoken in a strange place, remembering nothing, surrounded by people he'd never seen before doing tests on him. Considering how star-struck everyone other than Aldwyn had been around Harry, Ron could see how it could be quite confusing.

"I won't lie to you, Harry. That parchment will probably lead to more questions than you have right now. But wouldn't you rather know what happened and who you are?"

"Right," Harry said, nodding and looking nearly convinced.

"I'm going to go for a walk and come back in a bit. Give you some time to read in peace."

"But what if—"

"I'll be back soon. Just—read all of that before we talk again."

Harry looked at the roll of parchment as though it was suddenly going to grow a set of fangs and set upon him, but he looked curious as well. It was almost the same look Harry had worn nearly seven years ago when he'd seen his first broom in Madam Hooch's flying lesson.

It made Ron want to smash things again.

Instead, he gave Harry what he hoped looked like a genuine smile and got up, wincing a bit as he straightened.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Ron answered automatically, before correcting himself. "Well, I'm here, so, not really. Side effects from—what you're going to read about."

"I'm glad you're here. No one else wants to answer any of my questions."

"I'll be back," Ron told him, unable to say much more than that through his guilt.

He grabbed the thin, plaid robe from where it hung near his bed and left the room, heading for the fifth floor. He avoided the staff, finding himself forcibly reminded of trying to stay away from Peeves in the Hogwarts corridors.

When he got to the visitor's tea room, he felt a little self-conscious in his pajamas, robe, and socks, but it got even worse when he realized every person in the tea room was staring at him and talking to each other in hushed voices. Ron hated himself a little for ever being daft enough to be jealous of Harry's fame.

This might not die down, Ron realized. The rest of his life might be this way. Hermione's, as well. They had both become accustomed to a certain amount of attention for being Harry's friends, but something told Ron this was quite different. He wasn't sure how many details had been leaked to the _Daily Prophet_ , but it was certainly enough that he could hear his name being hissed by nearly all of the wizards and witches around him.

"I'd really like a cup of tea," he told the witch behind the counter. "I don't have any money with me, though. Is there any way I can—"

"Don't be daft," the witch answered, blushing a little. "It's my pleasure. Find yourself a table and I'll bring it out to you."

Ron turned around, scanning the room to find himself somewhere to sit. There was a darker corner at the far end of the room, and a set of five empty tables in it. He crossed the room and chose the table furthest from the other occupants of the room, sitting in the chair that faced the wall.

He didn't wait long.

"Here you are, sir," the witch said to him, setting a cup of tea in front of him, along with a bit of milk, honey, and a sugar bowl. Ron wasn't sure who she was speaking to for a moment, until he realized the witch, who had to be at least ten years older than he was, had called him "sir."

"Thanks," he said, trying to sound grateful instead of flummoxed at his hero's treatment.

"I brought you a biscuit as well, if you'd like it. It's chocolate. That's your favorite, isn't it?"

"Yeah, thanks, it's—how did you know that?"

"I read it in the _Prophet_ ," she said, blushing at him again. "If we had any Chocolate Frogs, I'd nick one for you," she told him, apologetically. "I know those are _really_ your favorite."

"Erm," he stammered, finding himself at a loss for anything to say in return. It didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. She seemed delighted that he'd made any noise at all.

"I really—I don't want to be a bother, but I'm only part-time and I may not get another chance. Will you sign this for me?" she asked, carefully placing a tea towel in front of him, along with a battered quill.

"I—" he began, trying to wrap his brain around the request. She wanted him to sign his name onto a ... tea towel?

"I'm really sorry," she said, quickly. "I didn't mean to—"

"No," he stopped her, putting a hand on her arm. "It's fine. Really." Ron picked up the quill and signed his name in his messy scrawl the best he could, given the rough surface of the towel and the less-than-sharp quill. 

He just avoided grimacing when the witch picked up the towel reverently and seemed to float away from his table. He turned back to his tea, burning his tongue a bit on his first sip when he was too distracted to pay attention to how hot it still was.

It was a waste of a good chocolate biscuit. He could hardly taste it after burning his tongue.


	12. Chapter 12

After taking his time sipping the tea and signing four copies of the _Daily Prophet_ , Ron decided he'd given Harry enough time alone with his letter. One more look at the insufferable pictures of his own face staring out from the newspapers thrust in front of him, reading the " _Hogwarts Heroes Still Recuperating; Award Ceremony Indefinitely Postponed_ " headline again and again, and he'd go mad. He was actually starting to long for the stark, boring surroundings of their room in the Spell Damage ward.

He walked through the corridors, back to his room, running into several Healer's Assistants who tried to help him. He patiently insisted to each of them that he was feeling better and that Aldwyn had given him permission to take short walks.

This was a lie, but he felt Aldwyn would probably cover for him if anyone asked her about it. He worried briefly if he could possibly get her into trouble, but he soon got the impression she had a bit more authority than he'd originally thought. Once he mentioned Aldwyn's name, each of the young witches seemed to relax and leave him to himself. 

He paused at the door for a moment before opening it. He had no idea how much Harry had written to himself or what he'd chosen to include or leave out.

How could Harry possibly be comfortable around a best mate that he couldn't even remember?

One deep breath later, and Ron found the courage to enter the room again. Harry was bent over the roll of parchment, his brow furrowed in concentration. The letter was wrinkled, as though he'd read it several times and kept going back to certain parts of it.

Ron was trying to think of something to say. He wasn't even convinced that Harry had noticed his return.

"Who the bloody hell are the Dursleys?" Harry asked, looking up at Ron with an expression of utter befuddlement. "And what did I ever do to them?"

Ron laughed in spite of himself. "I don't know, Harry. They're just awful. If it helps, we got you away from them every summer as soon as we could."

"I know," Harry said, pointing to a bit of his letter. "I wrote about spending time at your house and in London."

"Yeah," Ron said, feeling a bit useless. Harry must have more questions than this.

"You're my best mate," Harry said, as though he was telling Ron something he didn't already know. It nearly made Ron laugh again.

"And here I thought you would have told yourself what an utter arse I can be,"Ron said, thinking back to their first conversation about writing their letters.

"Well, sort of. How could you stop speaking to me because I was in a contest and you weren't?"

Ron felt his face warming with an embarrassed blush and could only imagine the shade of red he must have turned. "I can't believe you wasted ink on that. We put that behind us, mate."

"And Hermione? She's our best mate as well?"

"Sure. Ever since first year."

"Ever since you nearly got her killed."

Ron nearly choked on his own tongue. "What are you on about?"

"You insulted her, sent her right at that troll. Lucky thing we found her or we'd never have made it through Hogwarts in one piece."

"Yeah, it was lucky we found her," Ron said, thinking back to the terrified young girl they'd found, cornered behind that ugly beast of a troll nearly seven years ago.

"Lucky you never completely ran her off, the way you've treated her," Harry said, then paused for a moment. "Extra lucky, really, as you're in love with her."

"Blimey, Harry. Can you keep it down? I'm not used to hearing you talk about this."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Did you talk about it with her? I wrote that I wanted you to tell her before we did that spell, but I don't know if you did."

"I didn't," Ron said, and Harry's face fell a bit. "But I did get a good snog from her. Right before we had to do the spell." He grinned at Harry, who grinned back. For just a moment, everything seemed normal.

"Whoa," Harry intoned. "Brilliant."

"Doesn't matter, though. She won't remember it."

"Well, not right away," Harry said, thoughtfully. "But she will."

"Oh, come on, Harry. We don't know that," Ron said, and he watched Harry's face turn white.

"Did the Healers tell you something they didn't tell me?" Harry asked, with a bit of desperation. "They told me there was every reason I would eventually get my memories back."

That was it. The proof. Ron knew then that he was the world's biggest git. He'd let his own bitterness at the possibility of losing Hermione spill over and give Harry a reason to believe he'd remain in the dark forever.

"No, no, mate," Ron said, quickly. "Don't listen to me. I'm a prat. I always have been where Hermione was concerned. Listen to the Healers. They aren't going to lie to you."

Harry nodded, looking grimly resolute. His eyes fell back to the parchment, then he looked at Ron again.

"Did we really fly to school one year in a car?"

"Yeah," Ron said, laughing. "Wasn't as fun as we thought it would be. Nearly got us killed."

"And you remember Sirius? And Dumbledore?"

"Yeah," Ron said, his smile quickly fading. "They were brilliant. But you'll remember them both one day soon."

"Did we get Snape?" Harry asked him.

"I don't know," Ron said, amazed that he hadn't wondered about this before. Ginny had been right in front of him and he'd forgotten to ask if Dumbledore's murderer had been captured.

"You're sure you don't mind that I'm in love with your sister?"

"Are you?" Ron asked, hoping Ginny wouldn't get her heart broken again.

"I was. I'm sure I still will be as soon as I get my memory back. If you don't approve, you're going to have to tell me now."

"Are you mad? Do you know what Ginny would do to me if I stopped you? Well, maybe you don't, but mind you ... it wouldn't be a pleasant sight."

"Do I seem ... different to you?"

"Well, I know there's things you don't know—"

"That's not what I mean. Do I seem like the same person to you? Will I seem that way to Ginny? She might not feel the same way about me, now that I don't remember anything."

"I've already seen Ginny, mate. Trust me. She hasn't changed her mind." Ron had a crystal clear memory of her screaming at him.

"I don't know where to start," Harry said, wearing the same look he usually did whenever he had something difficult to tell them. "I wish I could just remember."

"Why don't I just start at the beginning and talk until we're both too tired to keep going?"

"You don't mind?"

"No, not if it might help you sort things out."

"So, what was the beginning?"

"Well, I was at King's Cross, ready to get on the Hogwarts Express—do you know what that is?"

"Yeah, that's the train we take to Hogwarts, right? The one we missed when we had to take the flying car?"

"Right, right. So, there I was, and you were there too. No one told you how to get onto the platform, so my mum helped you. We ended up in the same compartment on the train. We got on right away."

"Yeah, I wrote about that too."

"Blimey, Harry. Maybe I should read that letter so I stop repeating stuff you already know."

Harry blushed crimson. "I think there's bits of it you might not like so much."

"What are you—oh, right. You're right. I don't want to read about you and my baby sister. I might have to deck you, you know."

Harry's eyes widened and Ron was sure he backed up on the bed a bit. Ron held the straight face as long as he could, then gave over to laughter.

"You were joking?"

"You'd better hope I was. If I was going to deck you over my sister, I'd have done it a long time ago. Tosser."

"Well, what happened after that?"

Ron shuffled his chair closer to Harry's bed and the two boys leaned in, laughing as Ron talked about everything they'd been through. Ron tried to stick to the times when they'd had fun. He thought Harry could do with a laugh.


	13. Chapter 13

"Come on, let's have another one, then," Ron called out to Harry from across the room. He was leaning back against the pillows on his bed and actually enjoying himself a bit.

Harry sighed and dug another Chocolate Frog out of the pile by his bed. They'd been sent by various friends of theirs from Hogwarts, along with every other confection Ron had heard of. Ron wasn't sure how word of Harry's return to consciousness had leaked to them, but the packages kept arriving every day with Aldwyn, who insisted on checking them all thoroughly.

Aldwyn's single-mindedness reminded him a bit of Hermione, he realized, looking at his still-sleeping friend as he tore the wrapper from his twelfth Frog that day. He tried to push it from his mind as he held the squirming Frog firmly. Thinking about Hermione tended to put him in a very dark mood.

He bit the head off and savored the chocolate, trying to derail his thoughts before he spent the entire afternoon snapping at people and feeling irrationally angry. A look down at the package in his hands revealed an Agrippa card and he smiled a bit in spite of himself. He'd never gotten one, back when he'd still collected the things.

"Harry, you wouldn't remember, but I spent the better part of first year looking for this card," Ron said, waving it in the air as he took another bite of the Frog. "Never thought I'd see the bloody thing. Agrippa."

"Ah, I've forgotten to look at mine. Maybe one of them will—blimey."

"What?" Ron said, his mouth half-full of chocolate. He realized he was talking with his mouth full and immediately wished Hermione would wake up and tell him off for doing it.

"It's—me."

"What?"

"This card. It's me. Listen. ' _Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, won the hearts of witches and wizards everywhere after he defeated the legendary Dark wizard Voldemort. The former Tri-Wizard champion successfully defended his beloved Hogwarts from destruction at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Having accomplished so much at such a young age, we can expect to see even more greatness from the young wizard in the years to come.'_ Bloody hell."

"Harry," Ron began, hesitantly, "surely you've noticed the way the staff treats you. Kind of star-struck, yeah? You're, well, you're really famous. Even more now than you ever were before, I'd wager. We've been all over the papers. At least, whenever I've seen one, we have been."

"This card makes it sound like I did it all on my own."

"Harry, we never helped you to get a share of the credit. We helped you because we wanted to. Because we're friends. You kept trying to tell us it wasn't safe, that we should leave you to it on your own. We didn't listen." Ron was surprised that he didn't feel that familiar little twinge of bitterness in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Harry's fame. Maybe it was because he'd gotten a taste of it up in the tea room.

Harry frowned at the card for another moment, then set it aside. "Well, enough of that git. Let's see who else I got."

Ron suddenly felt like he was eleven again, comparing cards with Harry just like they had on the train.

"Dumbledore," Harry said, quietly. "It's strange ..."

"What?" Ron said, getting out of bed and heading toward Harry. The look on his face told Ron that something important was happening.

"I—I'm sure he just sounds familiar because he was in my letter," Harry said, shaking his head a little. "He just—he actually _looks_ familiar. It's odd. I feel strange looking at his picture. I almost ..." he trailed off, and Ron could hear his heart beating in his ears.

"You almost ... what?"

"I feel something when I look at his picture. Angry. Sad. And ... I can't quite find the word for it." Harry looked up, confused. "Loyal?"

"Harry," Ron breathed. "You're remembering something. Come on, Harry. Concentrate. Anything?"

"Wait," Harry said, screwing his eyes shut. His fingers turned white as he gripped the card firmly in his hand. "I can't remember anything clearly. It's just ... flashes. Wait," he said again, just when that was the last thing Ron wanted to do.

"What?" Ron demanded, sitting on the edge of Harry's bed and examining him closely.

"Breaking things. I was breaking things. And screaming. Silver things. They're everywhere. Smashed." Harry opened his eyes and looked back at the card. "But that doesn't make any sense."

Ron broke into a wide grin. "No, no. It does, mate. You were really angry with him once. You were in his office and you told me later that you broke everything you could get your hands on. That must be it."

"Why would I do that? The things I wrote about him in my letter ... I'd never have made it if it hadn't been for him."

"That's true, Harry, but that doesn't mean he wasn't right frustrating sometimes. We spent years trying to find out everything he knew that he wouldn't tell you."

"I actually remembered something," Harry said, sounding a bit awed.

"'Course you did. The Healers said you would, didn't they?"

" _You_ didn't think I would."

"Harry, I _told_ you, I was just being a prat when I said that."

"You know, this means she'll remember things too." Harry gestured toward Hermione. "Even if she doesn't when she wakes up."

"Well, I hope she won't forget it all for good."

"Wouldn't want her to forget snogging you, you mean."

"You know what I wish you'd remember, Harry? That you didn't care at all about my love life before."

"Don't know why I didn't. It's quite fun to watch you go spare whenever I bring it up."

"It goes both ways, mate." Ron frowned at Harry. "What happened with my sister when the two of you had that talk behind your bedcurtains yesterday?"

Harry's eyes widened, the effect magnified by his glasses, and he gulped. It was about time someone turned the tables on this annoying new Harry who felt quite comfortable teasing his friends.

"Ron, I swear I didn't lay a hand on—I mean, there's not much that could happen here. Between the Healers coming in and out and—well, we just talked. But ..."

"But what?" Ron asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

Harry looked at him reluctantly. There was clearly something he wanted to say. 

"Listen, all I know right now, other than what I just remembered, is what I wrote in that letter. I know I—" Harry stopped abruptly, looking up at Ron in alarm.

"Just say it, Harry."

"I know I was in love with her before. I know I told her we couldn't be together. But I never stopped loving her."

"Is that all?" Ron managed, before he laughed a little. "I knew that all along."

"Wait," Harry said, looking even more confused. "I still don't remember any of that, but I felt—different—around her. I don't think the spell changed anything about me where she's concerned. And I think she still has feelings for me as well."

"You'd have to ask her about that, mate. I have my theories, but I don't want Ginny to hex me for telling them to you."

"You know, if I still feel that way about Ginny, I'll bet you that when Hermione wakes up, she'll probably—"

"We're talking about you, Harry. Not Hermione," Ron said, sounding more curt than he'd intended. He just couldn't allow himself to hope for anything until she was actually awake and recovering.

"Sorry," Harry said, quietly. "I didn't mean to—"

"No," Ron said, allowing himself to stare at Hermione and try to will her awake yet again. "It's fine. I'm fine. I'm not angry."

"Right," Harry said, holding out a Sugar Quill to Ron, who took it and began to roll it between his fingers as he thought.

"Listen, I think Ginny's coming to visit again today, along with Fred and George. I know you must have written about them ... the twins? Why don't I sneak them out of here and leave you some time with Ginny to talk? You won't be able to get two words in with Ginny if they're here."

"I'm not sure I can talk to her like that yet. I don't even remember—"

"Mate, just tell her what you told me. Trust me. She'll want to hear it."

Harry nodded, then yawned widely. "Sorry," he apologized, mid-yawn. "I guess I'm tired again."

"Bloody frustrating, all this healing, isn't it?" Ron said, then found he couldn't hold back his own yawn. "Let's confuse Aldwyn and take our afternoon naps before she has to come in and threaten us."

"All right," Harry agreed, shifting the pile of sweets from his lap to the table by his bed, handing Ron one last Chocolate Frog. He kept his grasp on it for a moment before he let it go. "As soon as I saw those in that bag, I thought, 'Ron.' They're connected to you somehow."

Ron wasn't at all sure what to say back to that, but one thing was quite clear: his best mate was definitely on his way back.


	14. Chapter 14

"Come on, twenty minutes," Ron pleaded.

"They won't even notice us gone," Harry added.

"Enough, you two!" Aldwyn said, holding her hands over her ears. "Do you have any idea the strop those Aurors have every time you sneak out, you little red-haired devil? I thought I'd have to put up a Shield charm there for a moment. If you think for one minute—"

"Listen, we don't want you to get in trouble," Ron said, still trying to think of some way they could convince her.

"Why can I hear a 'but we have a really good reason, Aldwyn' coming?"

"Well, we do have a really good reason," Ron insisted. "Harry's starting to remember. He needs to be around something more familiar. Come on, Aldwyn."

"Merlin, I think I liked it better when one of you was still unconscious. You honestly want me to look the other way while the two of you Floo back to Hogwarts, alone?"

"No, we also need you to give us the Floo powder," Ron said, both in truth and in an attempt to make a joke.

"You know I can't do that," she said, sounding rather resolute. "I wish I could help you. The best I can do is try to get permission for you to leave, temporarily. I'll do that much for you and that is the _best_ I can do."

Ron considered pressing her, but something told him it was no good. That was doubly true once Aldwyn turned her back on them and left without another word. He hoped she seemed a lot more annoyed with them than she truly was.

Harry took the pillow he'd been balling in his hands and threw it at the foot of his bed in frustration. It bounced to the floor, where Ron stared at it dumbly for a moment or two before he found something to say.

"Harry, your memories will come back either way. Even if they won't let us leave, we'll keep talking. I'll tell it all to you over and over until you remember, if that's what it takes. Ginny will too, mate. You know she will."

"I know. I just don't know if I want her to."

Ron suddenly went from feeling concerned for Harry to being concerned for his sister. "Listen. If you're going to finish with her again, you should do it sooner rather than later. But I think you'd be making a mistake if you did."

"That's not what I mean. I don't know if I can ask her to go through all this. I still don't remember anything about her, but when she's here, iT just doesn't seem to matter." Harry shook his head. "Does that make any sense?"

"I think it would to her, mate." Ron considered exactly how happy his sister would be if she'd heard Harry say that. Perhaps it didn't matter if Harry never remembered another thing about his past. He was here, and he was safe, and he could start all over.

"Doesn't she deserve more than that, though? More than someone who'll never remember having met her, or what I felt the first time I saw her as more than a friend?"

"I don't think Ginny cares about any of that more than she cares about you. She's loved you forever, seems like. Maybe you should talk to _her_ about this."

"You mean, instead of you?"

"Well, yeah. I know you don't remember, but I'm not very good at this kind of stuff."

"Are you talking about treating Hermione like a prat last year?"

"I think I liked it better before you read your letter and started to remember things, Harry."

"I can't remember a thing of it, or maybe I'd understand. Why did you do it? I wish I'd written more about it. All I know is that I thought you were finally going to admit things to each other and then you were suddenly breathing through some girl named Lavender's face."

"That was complicated," Ron said, hoping Harry would leave it at that.

"Well, we're not going anywhere. I suppose we have time enough to sort this out."

"I'm not sure I can. I thought I did it because I was angry with her. Now I'm not so sure."

"Why would you snog one girl just because you're angry at another one? I still don't know what this has to do with Hermione."

Ron considered his options. Harry seemed to be set on finding out what had happened, and Ron had spent quite a bit of time trying to figure it out on his own. He did want someone to talk to, but the truth would be difficult to admit.

"I—I did it because I was afraid. I found out last year that Hermione had snogged someone else back in our fourth year. A quite _famous_ someone else. A person I could never measure up to."

"But if half the things I wrote about her are true, I don't think she believed that."

"She may not have," Ron agreed. "She always was a bit mental," he added, smiling a little to himself. "I could never be sure enough to take a chance. There's always been so much at stake."

"Ron, don't think about that. Just concentrate on what you'll do when she wakes up."

"That's the thing, Harry. I never did deserve her. A few weeks of snogging practice with some girl who wasn't the one I wanted didn't change that. It was one thing when we were young and Hermione was just our friend. She had bushy hair, she was bossy. Overbearing, really. She was brilliant, but she still needed us, though I never really understood why.

"Blimey, though, Harry. When we got older ... she got dressed up for a ball once. I honestly thought I was going to die, she was so—I don't know. Beautiful? Amazing, really. But she was there with someone else."

"The famous git you were talking about before?"

"I wish he'd been a git. Instead, he was a famous Quidditch player who never did anything wrong other than fancy the same girl I did. I wish I could have hated him, but I couldn't. He was more worthy of her than I was. Than I'll ever be, really."

"Ron—"

"Let me finish," Ron pleaded, not sure he could do this if he thought too much about what he was about to say. "After he was gone—he lives in Bulgaria—they wrote to each other a few times, but he seemed to disappear after a bit. When she didn't seem to really miss him, I thought I might have a chance. Perhaps she'd never really considered him in the first place. Then I found out from Ginny that she'd kissed him. Snogged a famous, older, International Quidditch player. I'd never snogged anyone. That was it. I'd lost my chance before I'd even realized I wanted one. It was all over for me on the same night that I realized she was a girl. It just took me forever to figure it out."

"I know this sounds odd, but did you ever ask her about any of this?"

"I'd been so horrible to her, Harry. I was angry at myself, frustrated because I knew she'd never really be happy with me, and I took it all out on her. I was a world-class git to her for quite a long time. That bit with Lavender was really just to hurt her. It wasn't until after it was finished that we were really able to speak again."

"Well, after that, then. When the two of you were back at school, the beginning of this year. Why not then?"

"There wasn't time. She was single-minded. Everything she did at school, her courses, the constant revision, and then all that time in the library, it was all to find a way for the three of us to make it through the war. How big of a prat would I have been to distract her from that? We'd be dead right now if it wasn't for her."

Ron looked up, and saw the utterly stricken look on Harry's face. It confused him for a moment until he understood what he'd just said and how it must have sounded to Harry.

"I told you, Harry. We never thought twice about throwing our lot in with yours. It was the right thing to do. Voldemort would have killed her," Ron said, pointing at Hermione, "as though she was nothing, just because her parents are Muggles," Ron spat, sobering a little when he saw more puzzlement on Harry's face. "That means they aren't magical."

"So she was nothing to him, but she's the one who really brought him down," Harry said, and Ron felt that summed things up quite nicely.

"Brightest witch of our generation," Ron said. "Beautiful. Even when she wasn't trying to be, as far as I'm concerned. She is, quite literally, the reason I'm still alive. I could snog a thousand girls, move this building with only the power of my mind, wake her from that blasted sleep she's in with a wave of my hand, and I'd still never be worthy of her."

"Do you think a person like her, the way you've just described her, would be happy letting someone else decide what she wants? If she is as clever as she sounds in this blasted letter I wrote to myself, I think she's quite capable of deciding things for herself."

"So, you'll let Ginny decide if she wants to stay with you, missing memories and all, then?"

"We weren't talking about—"

"It's the same thing, though, isn't it?"

Harry sighed. "Perhaps you're right."

"I am?"

Ron couldn't believe it. Ginny would murder him for talking Harry into giving up on her. Harry got out of bed and walked quickly across the room, holding out his hand. Ron goggled at it in confusion.

"So neither one of us will give up. We'll follow it through and see what happens."

"We'll ... what?"

"Shake my hand, Ron. Say you're in, and then shake my hand."

Ron broke into a wide smile, feeling exceedingly reckless as he grasped Harry's hand firmly and shook it.

"I'm in."


	15. Chapter 15

Ron was somewhere at Hogwarts, but it didn't look like Hogwarts. He ran his hand down a light blue wall as he walked down the corridor, trying to figure out where he was and where he'd been going.

"Ron! This way!" Hermione appeared in a doorway and beckoned to him. He had a terrible feeling, as though none of this was real, but he was so pleased to see her that he ignored it.

"Where are we, Hermione?"

"Don't be daft," she admonished, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the room. It was dark, but there was just enough light to make out the features of her face. She smiled serenely up at him as she reached up and ran her free hand through his hair. He caught it and kissed her open palm, shutting his eyes as he savored the feeling of her against his lips. "You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, but if you continue with that I may be able to forgive you rather quickly."

Suddenly it seemed like the most natural thing in the world that they would be here together. When he opened his eyes again he was just in time to see her pull her hand away and come closer to him. She unzipped her robes just enough to reveal the jumper she was wearing beneath them, and then she pressed against him.

He was on fire.

"It's rather warm in here, don't you think?" she asked, and he could only nod dumbly in response. "I'm sorry, I know this isn't perfect. It's just ... this is the most private place I could think of."

"Hermione—"

"Oh, just shut it and kiss me, Ron," she said, and he could see her smirk even through the darkness.

"If that's the only way to keep you quiet, I suppose I will," he said, relishing the quick flash of challenge he saw in her eyes. He didn't stop to enjoy it for long, though. Instead, he bent his head toward hers, catching her chin in his hands and pulling her into a deep, open-mouthed kiss.

She moaned into his mouth as his tongue teased against her lips, ran along her smooth, perfect teeth, and then found hers to war with. Her fingers pulled downward on the zipper of his robes, removing a layer that separated them as she pulled the two sides apart and pressed against him again. He could feel the desire to remove everything between them, to be as close to her as possible, coursing through him.

She broke away from him, planting a soft kiss on his lips before she pulled back completely. She was breathing hard, as though she'd been running, and he longed to make her even more undone.

"I'm sorry, I need a moment," she said, shakily. "It was all too much."

He hadn't released her head from his hands and he let his thumbs play over her cheeks.

"I know. I feel it too," he told her, reveling in finally being able to be honest with her.

"When we're together, I want everything. I want you."

"Hermione," he whispered in a pained voice. "You know I want you too."

"I want it all back. I'm just frightened. What if I never make it back?"

He looked at her curiously. "What are you talking about? Where are you going?"

"You know, Ron. I'm already there. I just don't know if I can find my way back. I'm frightened. You have to be careful. We can't lose this."

"Hermione, I don't understand," he said, feeling his heart begin to beat frantically inside his chest. "You have to tell me what to do."

She looked at him sadly. "That's just it. I can't. I wish I could, but it's all up to you. Just be careful, all right? Promise me?"

"I'd promise you anything, Hermione. You just have to tell me—" 

He broke off, suddenly understanding. This wasn't real. It was a dream.

"I have to hang on. If I wake up, you'll be gone," he told her, and he felt her tears falling over his fingers.

"I know. But you can get me back. I know you can."

When Ron awoke, he heard the sound of Remus Lupin's voice. He cursed softly under his breath when he realized what he'd just lost by opening his eyes. A glance at the color of the ceiling told him he'd slept for quite a long time, indeed. He only wished it had been longer.

Oddly, he still felt tired, but anything out of the ordinary tended to wake him up. Their routine at St. Mungo's had gone from mundane and repetitive to quite maddening. Ron wasn't sure how much more he could take and he couldn't imagine Harry was doing much better than he was.

Ron knew it wasn't exactly right to eavesdrop, as Lupin was only speaking to Harry at the moment, but the notion of something new happening was just too much to resist. Ron strained to make out the words.

"I know who you are," Harry said, sounding a bit uncertain. "I mean, I don't remember, but I know about you. You were friends with my father and Sirius, and you've helped me quite a bit."

"I expected this to be much harder," Lupin said. "I'm glad someone's filled you in."

"I was told you made sure we got here, after the battle. If that's all you'd ever done for us, that would be enough for me."

"Harry, I wish I'd come with better news, but I'm not sure we can hold off the Ministry and the press for much longer. Apparently the _Daily Prophet_ —that's the newspaper that—"

"I know what it is. Ron snuck out of the room once and saw some of the articles about us."

"Well, apparently they've grown tired publishing stories about your recuperation and they've been pressuring the Ministry to get access to you. I'm afraid it has reached the point where the speculation in the papers has become worse for you than the alternative."

"Which is?"

"Speaking directly to them. As much as I hate the way they treat you as a a commodity, we may need to play by their rules a bit to gain a bit of peace. I fear they will find a way to sneak in here before long, and you would not be prepared."

"Why don't they just talk to everyone else involved in the battle? I was told most of the people on our side made it out with minor injuries."

"They don't want to speak to those people. They want to speak to you."

"They make it sound as though I did this by myself," Harry said, the same thing he said every time he heard news from the outside world.

Lupin laughed a little. "Makes a better article, to paint you, Ron, and Hermione as the sole saviors of the wizarding world. Add too many characters and it dulls the story. Not that they haven't already interviewed every student at Hogwarts who would give the _Prophet_ the time of day, but it's all been leading up to one thing. They want access to the Hogwarts Heroes. That's what they've taken to calling the three of you. They have a penchant for nicknames, I'm afraid."

"Well, what am I going to tell them? I don't remember anything."

"That isn't common knowledge, and we don't really want it to get out. We're still rounding up the last of the Death Eaters, and it's better that they remain unaware of your condition. They fear you now as much as they feared Voldemort—more perhaps, as you were able to best him. If it was well known that you were, well—"

"So what do you want me to do?"

If Ron didn't know better, he'd say the old Harry was back. That particular tone of resignation and annoyance was so familiar that he could picture the look on Harry's face as he spoke.

"We can invite some members of the press here. No interviews, no questions. You'd just go in and read a short statement and that will buy us some more time."

"Why don't you ask Ron to do it? He actually remembers things."

"We'll need him to come as well. There will be questions about Hermione, but if two of the three of you are there we can keep them to a minimum."

Harry sighed deeply. Ron agreed with him. It was mad, throwing Harry into something like that just now. He was about to sit up and tell Lupin so, but he hoped Harry would do it on his own.

"I honestly wouldn't ask you if I had any choice, Harry. I've already refused them for days. Ever since the full moon—"

Lupin abruptly stopped talking, and it took Ron a moment to realize why. He didn't know that Harry already knew he was a werewolf. Harry didn't say anything, though it made Ron wonder why.

"Set the date," Harry said, tonelessly. "But it's up to Ron whether he wants to be there or not. I can't speak for him."

"Something tells me that he'll be there if you have to be. I don't expect he'll abandon you now. I'm rather sure, in fact, that he's already been listening and has had ample opportunity to make up his mind."

It was annoying, really, how difficult it was to try to get away with anything when you were up against Lupin. He had made it through school as Sirius' best mate, after all. Ron sat up, deciding to come clean.

"Right. If Harry's doing it, I'll do it. Just no sodding Rita Skeeter, yeah?"

"I'll see what I can do," Lupin said, with a wink, "but I can't promise you that. Now," Lupin continued, suddenly looking quite embarrassed. "I'm just popping down the hall. There's someone else I need to see before I go. I'll be back tomorrow with the details."

"Say 'hi' to Tonks for me," Ron said, smiling widely at his old professor. Though Lupin and Tonks had been together for nearly a year, Lupin still seemed a bit secretive about the whole thing.

"Yes, well ... as I said. I'll be back. Try to stay out of trouble."

"Us?" Ron said to Lupin's retreating back, but he didn't seem to react.

Ron frowned over at Harry, who was looking quite resigned. Ron's concern led him over to his friend's bedside, where they both sat in silence for a moment. He wanted to let Harry have the first word, but he never had been very patient.

"Harry? Did you remember anything?"

"Hmmm?" Harry answered, distractedly. "Why?"

"While Lupin was here?"

"Not ... really. I did know I could trust him, though. I wonder if that's something."

"I'm sure it is, Harry." Ron let a long silence pass before he broached the next subject. "Have you told the Healers yet? That you've remembered a few things?"

"Not yet. D'you think I should?"

"Yeah. Maybe they can help you. You know, now that things are coming back."

"I don't know. I've been waiting to remember something that seems more ... solid."

Ron wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to push Harry to tell the Healers, mostly in the hopes that they could wave a wand over him and restore him to the person he'd been a week ago. That was daft, of course. Surely the answer would be one of the variants of 'we'll have to wait and see' that seemed so popular among the Healers at St. Mungo's.

His thoughts were interrupted by some odd, muffled sounds coming from the other side of the room. Ron looked at Harry for several long moments before it finally sunk in and he realized what those sounds meant.

"Hermione!" Ron yelled, and his head swam with the white noise of his own blood rushing through his body. He rushed to her bedside, where she was thrashing and fighting against the covers that were tightly pulled around her.

_Hermione_ , he thought. _Say something. Do something. I just need to know you're all right._ He was forcibly reminded of that night weeks ago, staring at the door to her room back at Hogwarts as he tried to will her to open it. When it had actually worked, some part of him had decided they were connected, that he could always reach her if he only tried hard enough.

"I'll go for a Healer," Harry said hastily, his socked feet sliding a bit on the slick floor as he ran. Ron vaguely heard Harry yelling for someone just outside the door to their ward, but most of his attention was focused on Hermione.

Her face was still pale, but a redness had appeared to dot her cheeks. She managed to free an arm from under the sheet and blanket, but she yanked it away from him when he tried to stop her from flailing.

"Hermione, it's all right. Everything will be fine. Calm down, love." He smoothed her hair back from her face and she shrank away from him at first. Something told him to keep trying and after a moment, she stopped fighting him. Her arms were the last things to still, finally resting on the blanket at her sides as he continued to whisper any nonsense he could think of to her.

He took her hand with his, still using the other to brush lightly against her hair. It occurred to him that he'd wanted to do this every time he'd looked at her, lying helplessly in the bed across from his. He wasn't sure why he hadn't done it before. Once she awakened properly he might never have the chance of doing it again.

He shook his head at this thought. He'd made a pact with Harry that neither of them would give up on trying to put their lives back together. He had to believe in that.

He wished she'd just open her eyes. It seemed as though his life would never start again until he saw that deep shade of brown staring back at him. Even if he didn't see that glimmer of recognition, at least she'd be awake ... alive. Ron looked around, wondering how long it took to get a bloody Healer to react to anything in this place.

"Where am I?" said a soft, confused-sounding voice. Ron's head snapped back to look at Hermione, whose eyes were finally open. She looked around, struggling a little more to try to sit up, though she clearly didn't have the strength.

Ron whispered her name, hoping she'd turn toward him when she heard it. When she didn't react, he tried to ignore the tearing feeling centered in his chest and concentrate on the fact that she was finally showing signs of life.

Her eyes met his and he searched them for anything familiar. He watched her wince and realized after a moment of confusion that he'd begun to squeeze her hand far too tightly. He released it and she snatched it back, clasping it with her other hand and guarding it from him. The pain in his chest got worse.

The door to their room opened again and two Healers rushed in, moving with expressions of concern on their faces. At the sight of two strangers, wands upraised, moving toward her, Ron had to fight a momentary urge to find his own wand and protect her from them. As it was, he stood from the chair and put himself between Hermione and the oncoming Healers.

"Who are you?" she asked, and he turned to find her staring at him. Before he could think of an answer, the Healers pushed him aside and drew the curtains around her bed.


	16. Chapter 16

Ron stumbled backward until he felt the backs of his legs touch his bed. He sat, collapsing forward and resting his head in his hands. The air around him began to feel uncomfortably warm and heavy.

Merlin ... he'd known she probably wouldn't remember him, but the shock of actually seeing the blank expression on her face when she'd looked at him was much worse than he could ever have imagined it would be.

"Ron, what's wrong? Is she all right?"

Ron looked up to find Harry and Aldwyn hovering over him, Aldwyn looking concerned while Harry looked nearly frantic.

"Ron! Is she all right?" Harry repeated.

"I—I only saw her for a moment or two before they shut me out. She seemed okay, but she didn't—she didn't remember me, Harry." Ron tried to say the last part of this in a neutral tone, unwilling to give away exactly how much he'd still hoped that he might see a glimmer of something, anything, familiar in her eyes.

"But she's awake," Harry persisted.

"Yes. She seemed a bit weak, but all right."

"She'll be all right, Ron," Harry said, a bit uncertainly. Ron looked back at Harry, wondering what this must be like for him. He hardly knew anyone around him, yet he was still trying to stand by Ron's side based on a few hazy memories and one rather long letter.

Aldwyn slipped away from them toward Hermione's bed curtains, giving Ron a significant look before she disappeared. He was, in that moment, sure that she knew precisely how he felt about Hermione and that she'd only left them so she could bring him more information than he'd get otherwise. He was a bit uncomfortable at the idea of Aldwyn being able to see through him so completely, but he did feel better knowing she always seemed to be on his side.

"Where am I?" Hermione's voice carried through the rest of the room. Ron's stomach rolled at the confusion and fear he could hear in every word she spoke. "Who are all you people and what am I doing here?"

Ron just barely restrained himself from ripping open the curtain. "I don't think I can take this," Ron said, looking frantically at Harry. "She's terrified."

"I know how she feels. I remember when I first woke up. It isn't easy."

If one of the three of them was destined to keep their memory, why hadn't it been Hermione? She would know what to do, how to help them.Ron wasn't sure of anything at all.

Aldwyn reappeared from behind the curtain. She had an odd look on her face. Ron wanted to tell her not to worry. She couldn't have anything worse to tell them than what he was already imagining.

"I know you're worried for her, but she's going to be fine. We'll get her calmed down. I do think it would be better if the two of you were away from here for a bit. She's rather nervous about all the people around her and I'm afraid if we have to choose between you and the Healers, the Healers win out for now."

"So, to a separate room then?" Harry asked, though Ron knew his friend was hoping for a different answer.

"No," Aldwyn answered, with just a hint of a twinkle in her eye. "You've been asking for it and I think I finally have a good argument. Now, I obviously haven't spoken to your Auror friends outside, but I think I can arrange a little visit for the two of you back to Hogwarts."

The last thing Ron wanted to do was leave Hermione's side, but when he saw the look of anticipation on Harry's face, he didn't have the heart to argue against it.

"When?" Harry asked.

"I expect you'll leave as soon as I talk them into it. The sooner we get the two of you away from here for a bit, the better," Aldwyn said, looking back at the curtains surrounding Hermione's bed. "The two of you, stay over here, and be quiet. I don't want her any more upset than she already is. I'll be right back."

Aldwyn put a determined look on her face as she left the room and Ron felt a bit sorry for the Aurors. Not a lot of time passed before she returned, looking a bit hassled but triumphant, nonetheless.

"Get dressed and get your wands, my young patients. And you," she said, looking at Harry, "I believe this is yours," she said, holding out Harry's Invisibility Cloak, earning a surprised look from both of them. 

"Is this what I think it is?" Harry asked, and Ron nodded back.

"The three of us will be traveling in a moment, and I have strict orders make sure you have the means both to conceal and defend yourselves, so I suppose it's time you had that back."

Ron looked at Harry and couldn't help smiling a little at Harry's broad grin. He didn't really want to leave Hermione, but he didn't want his presence to upset her, either. If they had to go somewhere, it may as well be somewhere that could put that look on Harry's face.

They got under the cloak and headed down the corridor toward one of the fireplaces that connected them to the Floo Network. An Auror Ron didn't recognize was trailing behind them. It was a moment before Ron remembered that Harry's memory loss was supposed to be a secret.

"Aldwyn," Ron said, pulling urgently on her sleeve through the cloak until she leaned casually toward him. He tried to whisper quietly, looking around to see if anyone could overhear Aldwyn apparently talking to no one. "We're about to take him to the only place I know where a bit of gossip gets around faster than the Golden Snitch. Isn't someone going to find out that he lost his memory?"

"We're going to be quite careful. You won't be allowed free run of the castle. Madam Pomfrey and Headmistress McGonagall will meet you in the hospital wing and you'll take it quite carefully from there. Now, before you give me that look that I can't even see but know is on that face of yours, they _will_ be able to arrange for Harry to see things that might trigger something for him. We just have to be cautious."

"That's fine," Harry said. "It's better than nothing."

Ron glanced at Harry. "You know, there's someone there who knows about this already. She might be helpful—"

"Before you labor yourself too much lobbying for her, I'll make sure they send for your sister straight away when you get there, Ron. I'm sure she'll be glad to see both of you."

Ron soon had a handful of Floo powder running between his fingers and was spinning through the network on his way back to Hogwarts. It was strange to him that so little time had passed since he'd been there. It seemed more like years to him.

McGonagall turned to him as soon as he emerged, her usually stern look softening into something almost sentimental when she saw him. Aldwyn had a quick word with her before she returned to St. Mungo's, along with a promise to retrieve them in a few hours' time.

"Mr. Weasley," she greeted him, her words much more formal than the pat on the shoulder she gave him. "And Mr. Potter, I see," she added, with just a touch of hesitance.

"Harry, this is Headmistress McGonagall," Ron said, and couldn't help feeling a bit odd to find himself introducing Harry to someone as constant and familiar as she was.

"I was your Transfiguration professor and your Head of House," she told Harry, giving him an oddly hesitant look.

"I know about you. It seems we owe you quite a lot," Harry told her, and McGonagall seemed to relax a bit.

"Well, I understand you'll be with us for a bit. We'll make good use of your time until then. I'd love to give you the freedom of the entire castle, but that just isn't possible at the present time. We will send the Auror the Minister was kind enough to lend us," McGonagall said, unintentionally amusing Ron with her apparent dislike of the Minister and his Aurors who were not in the Order, "ahead to clear the corridor. Most of the students are at their lessons at the moment, so we shouldn't have much trouble."

"Where are we going?" Ron asked, hoping it would be somewhere that might help Harry remember something.

"Gryffindor Tower," McGonagall answered. "We've already cleared out anyone who isn't at a lesson. You'll also be under the cloak until we get there for an extra measure of safety"

"What could you possibly say to talk all those Gryffindors into clearing out of their rooms in the middle of the day?" Ron wondered aloud.

"I've told them we're doing a sweep for Zonko's and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products," McGonagall answered in her usual, efficient, clipped tone. "I've never seen such a panic before." Ron was sure that he wasn't imagining the slight glimmer in her eyes as he and Harry swung the cloak over themselves again.

They began to move through the castle, proceeding only when they got a signal from the Auror clearing their way. As they neared the tower, the portrait of the Fat Lady became visible at the end of one branch of the moving staircases.

McGonagall gave the password to the Fat Lady and paused in the opening while Harry and Ron slipped in. She came in after them and waited to address them until they'd removed the cloak and were visible again.

"I'll wait outside," McGonagall told them. "You can go where you like, with the exception of the girls' staircase, of course. Your sister," she said, looking at Ron, "is being pulled out of her Charms class right now and will be here shortly."

"Thank you," Harry told her earnestly, his eyes sweeping over everything around him. Ron could tell exactly how much Harry wanted to remember something on this trip. McGonagall left them alone and Ron wondered for a moment where they should start.

"Do you want to see the rooms upstairs or stay here?" Ron asked, watching Harry carefully for any sign of recognition.

Harry walked carefully around the common room, his gaze lingering on each item as he ran his hands over the rich red and gold upholstery covering all the furniture and fluffy pillows in the room.

"Upstairs, I think," Harry said, sounding a bit disappointed. Ron decided not to press him for any more details, but he could feel himself beginning to worry that Harry would be quite upset if their visit didn't yield anything new.

"Come on, then. We've stayed in nearly every room up there ... everything but the seventh-year dormitory. Let's just take a look around, all right?"

Harry and Ron went into each of the rooms, walking through and looking at the sort of messes that only Hogwarts-aged boys seemed to be capable of creating. Ron could remember leaving things sticking out of his trunk in his rush to get to the Great Hall or a lesson only to come back and barely notice that a house-elf had set it back to rights while they were away.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it?" Harry asked.

"Since when has anything been easy?" Ginny said from the doorway. Ron felt a bit silly to be surprised to see her when they'd been told she was coming, but he couldn't help being relieved at her timing. He wasn't sure what to say to Harry but he was sure Ginny would be better at it than he was.

"Ginny," Harry whispered, and Ron could have sworn, for a moment, that everything was back to normal. The look on Harry's face when he saw Ginny reminded him forcibly of the moment just before the two of them kissed for the first time, down in the common room, in front of all of Gryffindor.

"Imagine running into the two of you here," Ginny said, her eyes never leaving Harry.

"Hermione's awake," Ron offered, wondering if either of them would hear a word he was saying.

He really shouldn't have doubted his sister's concern for Hermione. Ginny's head snapped to Ron and back to Harry when it registered with her.

"She is? When? Is she all right? Is that why you're—"

"She seemed all right, but we haven't really seen her yet. They hustled us out of there pretty quick," Ron said, allowing a little bitterness to slip into his voice.

"It's not that I'm not pleased to see you, but why did you have to leave?"

"She was pretty upset. She didn't remember anything and having so many people around was making her panic," Harry explained.

"Was it that bad?" Ginny asked, looking concerned.

"No, I think she'll—" Harry began, but Ron cut him off before he could finish.

"She was pretty frightened, Ginny. I don't know when she'll feel comfortable around us at all," he said, voicing his worst fear—that she would push him away before he even got a chance to help her remember who she'd been.

"Rubbish," Ginny said, and Ron's mouth fell slack with shock. "You're making excuses because you're afraid she'll read her letter."

"Ginny, she really was—" Harry began, but Ron didn't want Harry to unknowingly inflame Ginny's temper.

"No, it's all right, Harry. She's right. A little bit, anyway." Ron looked to his sister. "But you didn't hear her. You didn't hear how scared she was. There's no way she's ready. At least come and see her for yourself before you decide to hand it over to her."

"Hang on," Harry said. "You want to keep Hermione's letter from her?"

"Not forever. Just until she's ready."

"And who decides that? You?" Ginny said, lifting her chin in direct challenge.

"Yes, he does," Harry said, quietly. "He's the one who remembers everything. Everything I wrote about him tells me I can trust him and that Hermione can as well."

Ginny was quiet, but she didn't look entirely convinced. "What about the others?" Ginny asked Ron.

"You should give Harry the letters from Hermione and me. Now that Hermione's awake, he'll need to know more about her, and there's nothing in mine that I wouldn't tell him right now." Ron turned toward Harry. "We all wrote letters to each other, as well. I'm sorry I kept them from you, mate. I didn't want you to be too overwhelmed."

"I probably would have been. I'm still going back over my own letter." Ron gave him a grateful look and Harry seemed to understand without a word having to be spoken. Things seemed so unchanged in their friendship that Ron sometimes nearly forgot how little Harry remembered.

"Listen, I'll leave the two of you alone for a bit. I'll be in my room if either of you needs me," Ron said, turning his back on them before either of them could protest. Being around Ginny was good for Harry, and all Ron really wanted was to have his friends back.

He made his way to his room, hoping it would feel more comfortable than this unnaturally empty version of Gryffindor Tower. His door opened at his silent command and he sat heavily on his bed, looking around and wishing none of this had happened. If he shut his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could almost believe that Hermione would come and knock on his door so they could walk to their lesson together.

His gaze fell on his desk and he saw a quill lying there. It wasn't his. It was hers. She'd left it there the last time they'd been there together. She'd just completed her letters to Ron and Harry and she'd stopped by to pick up Ron's so she could jinx them all before turning them over to Ginny. In her haste, she'd left her favorite quill behind on his desk.

He rose and walked over to pick it up, rolling it between his fingers. One night, down in the common room when Hermione had been extremely tired, she'd told him how she felt about quills in a husky, drowsy voice. He'd barely been able to listen to anything past the sound of her voice as she told him about the first time she'd held a quill in her hands and felt it scratch against the parchment.

He hadn't even understood what she meant at first, daft as he usually was. It finally occurred to him that, growing up with Muggles, she'd never seen one until her first trip to Diagon Alley. It was one of the first things she'd learned about the wizarding world. She'd held her first quill before she held her wand, before she'd read a word of her beloved _Hogwarts, A History_.

He opened the top drawer of his desk and put the quill carefully inside.

Someday, she'd want it back.


	17. Chapter 17

A knock at his door interrupted him in the middle of going through the things in his trunk, the only thing he could think of to do in his room, alone. It was probably time to go back. Now that it was, he found himself worried about what he would find when they returned.

He knew that Hermione still wouldn't remember them, but would she be any less upset and confused?

He opened his door to Ginny, giving her a quizzical look when he saw she was alone.

"I thought I'd give Harry some time to wander on his own," she explained, pushing past him and letting herself into his room.

"Maybe that will be good for him. He'll see things without worrying what anyone else is thinking."

Ginny sighed and her shoulders dropped. "All right, that's a bit of a lie. I wanted to talk to you alone for a few minutes."

Ron sat down, wondering what sort of verbal thrashing he was in for.

"I wanted to apologize," she began, and Ron blinked at her in confusion. "Oh, give over. You could have the decency not to look so surprised."

"I—it's not that. I just don't know what you're apologizing for."

"Well, I've been rather hard on you about these letters. I've only been thinking about myself and how much I wanted them back. I was so angry with you that I never really considered what you were saying. I'm not saying that I agree with you, but I really should have listened to you when you tried to explain it to me."

"Did you give Harry the other two letters?"

"Yes, but he hasn't opened them yet. He'll do it when he thinks he's ready."

"What changed your mind?" Ron couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Harry," Ginny replied, simply, and Ron decided to let it lie at that.

"Do you think I should take Hermione's letter back with me?"

"I think it's time I gave them all up. I hate to say it, but you might be a better guardian of them than I was. Harry wants you to have the letter he wrote to you, I know that much. It's up to you to decide to read Hermione's letter to you or not."

Ginny handed him a small pouch filled with the remaining six scrolls of parchment, giving him the first genuine smile he'd gotten from her since he woke up after the spell.

"I have another confession for you," she said, looking even more hesitant. "You're not going to like it."

"When has that stopped you before?" he said, glad to feel free to tease her again, now that the tension between them had lifted.

"I wasn't exactly being objective when I got angry with you over the letters. I was upset with you, but it wasn't your fault. It was mine—I feel just awful, Ron."

"How was it your fault? I'm still not sure that keeping the letters from them would have been the right thing to do. In fact, I'm pretty glad you ignored me and gave Harry his."

"It wasn't about the letters. It was about the spell. I was angry at you for ..." she trailed off, unable to finish her thought.

"For remembering," Ron finished, finally understanding why she'd been so short with him recently.

"I never wanted to lose you," Ginny said, tears coming to her eyes. "I'm so glad you made it through and that you're all right. But I can't deny wishing it had been Harry to retain his memories."

"I understand, Ginny. I really do," Ron said, thinking of how much he wished that Hermione remembered him.

"You shouldn't," she spat, clearly feeling awful. "You shouldn't forgive me at all. What a horrible thing to wish for, even for a moment."

"You love Harry and you want him back. I wish things were that simple for one of us." He hugged her just as she burst out into real tears and he found himself patting her on the shoulder and telling her it would be all right. When had he learned how to do this?

"I'm so sorry, Ron," she said into his shoulder.

"It's all right," he told her again, letting her go when she pulled away and brushed angrily at her wet cheeks.

"Well, this is no good. Am I a mess? I don't want Harry to know I was crying. He has enough to worry about on his own."

"Nothing that one of your glamour charms couldn't cure. Go on, then. Take care of it while I find Harry."

Ginny turned her back to him, getting out her wand and examining her face in Ron's mirror. The mirror tutted at her for making such a mess of herself, but stopped when she gave it a withering look.

"You know, for a big brother, you're actually not a bad bloke," she told him, and he smiled at her in the mirror before he turned to leave.

"Oh my, that is lovely, isn't it?" the mirror cooed. "The two of you getting on so well."

He made his way downstairs, finding Harry sitting on the overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace. He was just staring ahead, making Ron a little concerned.

"All right there, Harry?" he said, hesitantly. He didn't really want to interrupt, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.

"What is it about this fireplace? I saw someone important there once, but I can't quite remember—"

"You did," Ron said, heavily. "You know how we traveled by Floo earlier? You can communicate that way as well, but just with your head. You—you wrote to yourself about Sirius, didn't you?" Ron didn't like to mention Sirius, mostly because Harry had hardly spoken of him in the year and a half he'd been gone. Even though this Harry didn't remember the battle at the Department of Mysteries, Sirius still felt like a forbidden subject.

"My godfather," Harry said, his voice flat. "He was killed. And it was my fault, wasn't it?"

"No," Ron protested. "Sirius would never have seen it that way. Sirius was the first person who would understand you taking a chance and going to the Ministry that night."

"But this," Harry pointed at the fireplace, "this had something to do with Sirius, then?"

"Right, mate. You talked to him here a few times. When he was in hiding it was one of the _only_ ways you could talk to him."

"I knew it. I knew there was something about this. I almost had it on my own, you know. I could almost see what it was."

"That's brilliant, Harry. Really, it is."

"I'm going to get it all back, Ron. I swear I will. I don't care what it takes. Seeing Ginny—" Harry began, but he blushed and looked down at the floor.

"I think it's time to go to the Healers, don't you?" Ron suggested hopefully. Now that his memories had started to come back on their own, there must be something they could do to help him.

"Yeah, perhaps you're right. Maybe it is time. And you know what this means, Ron. If I'm getting my memories back, then Hermione's sure to—"

"I hope so," Ron said, quickly. He still couldn't bear to hear the words aloud. He just couldn't afford to hope he'd get her back if there was even a chance he wouldn't.

The portrait hole opened and Harry stood, both of them turning toward it in alarm and relaxing only when they saw Headmistress McGonagall emerge through the opening.

"I'm afraid it's time to go back," she told them.

"I need to say goodbye to Ginny," Harry said, immediately.

"She's in my room. We'll wait for you here," Ron said, wondering when he'd gotten the sheer nerve to overrule his Head of House. He smiled a little when he realized that a tiny part of him was expecting her to give him detention or take away house points.

When he finally decided he had waited long enough to turn and face her, he found her sitting in hard-backed chair near the entrance, looking just a bit surprised.

"Well, have a seat, Mr. Weasley. We may have a moment or two to wait and you may as well be comfortable."

"I actually had a question for you, Headmistress," Ron began, swallowing as though it would give him more courage. "It's just—well, I've been thinking ... do you think there's any way the three of us could still take our NEWTs at the end of term? Now that Hermione's awake, I know she could make up the work on her own. And with her to help us, we may just be able to do it as well." The words escaped from him in a rush, before he could think about how terrible he would feel for Hermione if McGonagall said no.

Ron tried to push the recurring image of Hermione helping him study from his mind. Part of him knew that doing something so familiar to her might help to bring her back, but he had to admit that he was really just trying to think of excuses to keep her as close to him as possible without scaring her away. Her terrified reaction after setting eyes on him that morning still gave him a horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach and he couldn't deny that it would kill him if her fear somehow became permanent.

"That has quite a bit to do with how quickly the three of you recuperate, especially Miss Granger," McGonagall said. "However, I see no reason I would rule it out. I'll arrange for your textbooks to be brought to St. Mungo's for the rest of your convalescence."

"Thanks," Ron told her, feeling a small surge in his mood. "That's brilliant."

Harry and Ginny chose that moment to descend the staircase and join them in the common room. Ron watched them carefully, unable to contain his curiosity. They weren't touching, but there was some sort of unmistakable connection between the two of them that he couldn't help envying.

"Let's get you back," McGonagall said briskly, but then her expression softened. "I hope this has done you some good in your recovery, Mr. Potter."

"It has," Harry answered in a quiet voice, looking directly at Ginny as he said it.

Ron watched his sister brush Harry's hand with hers briefly and Harry started a bit. They looked at each other for a moment longer before Harry swallowed with some difficulty.

"I'll leave you lot here," Ginny said, retreating toward the staircase to her dormitory. "Take care of yourselves, right?"

"We will," Ron assured her, just as he and Harry disappeared under the cloak again.

McGonagall led them from the tower, following the Auror back through the corridors to the fireplace in her office. As Ron spun within the Floo Network, he couldn't help wondering what kind of state they would find Hermione in when they returned.


	18. Chapter 18

They were steps away from their room in the Spell Damage ward when Harry turned to Ron under the cloak.

"Did she give you the letters?"

"Yeah," Ron confirmed. "Do you want me to give Hermione yours?"

"I meant what I said. I'd rather you decided that. You know her better than I do, especially at the moment."

"Do you mind if I read the one you left for me?"

Harry took a moment to answer. "Yes. On one condition. You let me read it when you're done."

"Yeah," Ron said, wondering why he hadn't considered this before. "I bet you'd remember a lot from reading what you wrote to us."

"All right, my charges. It's time to come out," Aldwyn called. Ron saw her scanning the area near the door, waiting for them to appear. Behind her, Ron was disappointed to see Hermione's bed curtains were closed and the room was silent.

Harry pulled the cloak away, taking it to his bed and pulling the curtains around himself to change his clothes.

"She's sleeping," Aldwyn offered, just before Ron was about to ask.

"All right then, once and for all, are you a Legilimens?" Ron asked, a bit taken aback, as usual, at her ability to anticipate what he intended to say at any given moment.

"It's flattering you'd believe me capable of it, but even without that particular talent I seem to be able to read you like a scroll of parchment," she replied, her eyes dancing with amusement. "But back to the point, she's calmed down quite a bit and resting comfortably. She's been told she's sharing the room for security reasons, although she hasn't really been given most of the details."

"So she doesn't know who we are."

"Somehow, I thought the two of you might like to take care of that bit. She'll understand it better coming from you, I think."

Ron sat heavily on the edge of his bed, the pressure of finally being able to speak to her in a few hours' time weighing on him.

"Remus Lupin has also been to see you. He was quite surprised to find you gone, I have to say. He's waiting, so just let me know when you're ready to see him."

"Right," Ron said, without as much enthusiasm as he'd normally have to get a visit from Lupin. This surely meant that the meeting with the press was set and he and Harry would be trotted out to be gawped at sometime in the next few days.

"He's just seen Hermione's parents off," Aldwyn added. "They visited while you and Harry were away. They wanted me to tell the two of you how relieved they are that you're all safe. Remarkably strong people," Aldwyn said with no small measure of admiration. "Especially for Muggles, in an unfamiliar place like this."

"Will they be coming back to the room as well?" Ron asked, sure he wasn't ready to face them just yet.

"No, I don't think so. I expect he'll see them out on his way here, once I send for him. It's without precedent, but the Minister of Magic saw to it personally that a temporary Floo connection has been arranged for them so they can come to visit whenever they like."

"Yeah, doesn't surprise me. The Ministry is quite good at coming in after the fact and pretending to help," Ron said, without bothering to disguise his bitterness.

"I understand why you'd feel that way, but you should take any help they offer you. It is the least they can do, after all, and they do have resources that would benefit you."

Harry's bed curtains opened again and Ron saw him sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing his hospital-issued pajamas and fingering two fat scrolls of parchment. His wand sat on the bed next to him, ready, as always, to allow him to defend himself. At the moment, it almost looked as though he felt he needed to protect himself from the letters.

"Would you like me to send for Mr. Lupin now, or do you need a bit?" Aldwyn asked, looking at him patiently.

"If he's got bad news, better to hear it now, rather than later," Ron said grudgingly.

"If you want to call off the press conference, I'm sure you could insist on it. I've spoken to him, though, and he seems only to be concerned with your best interests. You should hear him out."

"I know, I know," Ron added hastily. "He already told us they'd never leave us alone until we let them gawp at us." Ron was vaguely uncomfortable at the exasperated look that Aldwyn was giving him. "Right, could you please ask Lupin to come and see us now?" Ron rephrased.

"Ah, that's better, I think," Aldwyn told him with a wink, and she turned and left.

"So, it's time for that press conference?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. Don't think we can put it off much longer."

"I guess not," Harry said, sounding as resigned as Ron felt. "It'll be strange, telling them about things I don't remember."

"I'd offer to talk for both of us, Harry, but it would look odd if you didn't do it. Some of those bloody reporters would start investigating and we'd never get a moment's peace."

"No, it's fine. I'll need some help, though."

"I reckon that's what Lupin's come here to do. I hope he remembers more of the spell and the battle than I do. It's not as though I was actually there, you know."

Harry glanced at Hermione's bed curtains. "You don't suppose he's thinking Hermione should come as well, do you?"

"Over my dead body," Ron responded immediately. "She can hardly take being around two or three people. They can't possibly expect her to face that lot of bloodsucking—" Ron interrupted himself when he found himself so angry at the idea that he couldn't speak.

"We'll just tell him no, then."

The door swung open and Aldwyn reappeared, followed by thoughtful-looking Remus Lupin.

"I'll be right with you two, all right?" Lupin said, walking briskly past Ron and Harry to stand near the closed curtains surrounding Hermione's bed.

"Hermione?" he called, waiting for her quiet response before he pulled the curtains open just enough to talk to her.

"She isn't sleeping," Ron hissed at Harry. "Do you suppose she heard us talking about meeting with the reporters? I wouldn't have said what I did if I thought she could hear us." Harry just gave him a helpless look in response.

_Marvelous. More evidence that I'm the world's biggest prat._

He tried to listen ... well, eavesdrop ... on her conversation with Lupin, but he could only make out one word here and there.

"... parents ... fine ... time ... rest ... Healers ..."

When Lupin turned around Ron tried to act nonchalant, though the smirk on Lupin's face seemed to indicate that he'd failed miserably.

"How was your trip to Hogwarts?" Lupin asked, changing the subject to Ron's great relief.

Harry seemed at a loss for an answer, so Ron spoke up for him. "It went fairly well, but we probably could have used some more time."

"We may be able to arrange another soon. Especially if you think it helped you, Harry."

"Oh, well. Yes. Definitely," Harry answered. "It seemed really ... familiar."

Ron lowered his voice to a near whisper. "How is Hermione?" he asked, unable to hold the question back any longer.

"She's fine. She's feeling much the same way you were feeling, Harry, when you woke up. I want the two of you to let her rest a bit, all right? It's quite important."

"We will," Ron said, trying not to feel disappointed that Hermione's parents hadn't miraculously brought back her memories. He knew it wasn't realistic, but he found he'd been hoping for it anyway.

"But you didn't come here to talk about Hogwarts or Hermione, did you?" Harry said, looking uncertain.

"No," Lupin answered, shifting his weight from foot to foot for a moment until he took a deep breath. "The Ministry has arranged for five reporters to be here tomorrow. Minister Scrimgeour has also decided to take this opportunity to award the three of you with the Order of Merlin, First Class."

Ron began to cough uncontrollably, feeling as though he was choking. 

"Order of Bloody Merlin? Are you serious? He's only doing it to get his picture in the _Prophet_ next to Harry. He's as bad as Fudge was," Ron spat, as soon as he was able to speak again.

"Actually, he's most probably doing it to get his picture in the _Prophet_ with all three of you. Not a lot of information has made it out about the confrontation with Voldemort, but enough has been leaked that it's common knowledge that it was the three of you together who truly defeated him. I'd be lying if I told you that Scrimgeour wasn't pushing hard for Hermione to attend tomorrow—"

"Over my bloody dead body," Ron interrupted, repeating what he'd told Harry when they'd spoken of this earlier. "She isn't ready for this, and you know she's not," he raved, feeling his heartbeat quicken with rage.

"I didn't say I'd agreed to anything, including the meeting or the awards," Lupin explained, patiently looking from Ron to Harry. "I told him it was your decision to make, and that I would fight him on it if you had the slightest reservation. I can make the final arrangements, or not. It's up to the two of you."

"Would someone care to tell me why I'm being left out of this conversation?" Ron spun around to find Hermione lying on her bed, the curtains open and her wand in her hand. "I know I don't remember anything, but this _does_ seem to concern me as well."

Ron stared at her, open-mouthed, as her eyes flashed with anger. He'd often wondered how she knew so much about so many different things, but he hadn't thought it was possible that she could have figured out so much about her current situation in such a short time.

"I spoke to your parents, Hermione, and they both felt that the time frame was much too fast. You'll hardly have been awake for a day by the time those reporters—"

"He doesn't remember anything either," Hermione said evenly, dropping her wand on the bed to point a finger at Harry. "If he can be there, I can do it as well." She raised her chin defiantly, daring any of the three of them to contradict her.

Ron felt the familiar urge to row with her rising in him, unsure whether it was the subject matter or if it was just the look on her face that made him feel that way.

"I promise you, Hermione, I will speak with you about this before I go," Lupin said, clearly trying to take control of the conversation back from her.

"You're speaking with them about it now. Why am I being excluded?"

"Because you've only just woken up!" Ron said, finally losing his temper and patience. "Harry and I can handle this. If anyone finds out that you and Harry have lost your memories, it could be disastrous! Can't you see that? No, you can't, because you haven't been awake long enough to really understand the situation."

Ron's mind reeled as he heard the words escaping from his mouth before he could stop himself. This was not the way he’d hoped his first conversation with Hermione would go.

"I may not understand very much," she said, her eyes flashing at him, "but I do know that whatever that spell was that we did, the two of you apparently needed me for that. You have all night and tomorrow morning to fill me in. I don't see what the problem is."

"We'll discuss it," Lupin said, looking greatly fatigued. "You are, of course, of age, and you can make your own decisions. I can't deny that it would also appease the Minister and probably buy the three of you quite a bit more time."

Ron gaped at Lupin, wondering when his ex-professor had become so treacherous.

"It's settled then," Hermione said, as though she hadn't listened to a word Lupin had said about merely considering her appearance at the press conference the next day. "We'd better get started." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked expectantly at the three of them.

"Perhaps she's right," Harry said, hesitantly.

"Not you too," Ron answered, feeling as though things had gone out of control very quickly.

"If we're to make a success of this, you really should start to fill me in, don't you think?" Hermione called, sitting up straighter and looking insistent.

Lupin sighed and Ron knew what would happen next.

"Let's see where we are tomorrow," Lupin said. "If we both agree that you're ready, you'll go."

"That's fine," Hermione said in a clipped tone. "Now, for the last time. Let's get started then, shall we? It sounds as though we have quite a lot of ground to cover."


	19. Chapter 19

Ron, Lupin, and Harry sat in the chairs they'd pushed near to Hermione's bed, Lupin holding a slip of parchment in front of himself and squinting at it appraisingly.

"This might work," he said. "I think it strikes the right balance."

"Let's hear it one more time, so Harry can see if he can imagine reading it tomorrow," Ron suggested, and Harry gave him a grateful look.

Lupin held the parchment a bit higher and took a deep breath before he began to read. "Just over a week ago, a group of Aurors, professors, Ministry employees, students, and private citizens responded to an attack on Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry initiated by Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Led by Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, Headmistress McGonagall and myself, we were able to successfully defend the school and put a permanent end to the war. The wizard known as Lord Voldemort was killed during the battle and the bulk of his followers are in Ministry custody. As you have all previously reported, we mourn the loss of the two who were killed in the attack, Auror Sturgis Podmore and retired Auror Alastor Moody. Numerous others who were injured are recuperating and are expected to fully recover. Due to security concerns while the last of Lord Voldemort's supporters are captured, we must ask members of the press to refrain from trying to locate or contact any of those witches or wizards.

"I understand that all of you have come today in the hopes of hearing details of the final confrontation. Regrettably, I must announce that those details are considered classified by the Ministry of Magic and that no more can be revealed of those specifics than has already been reported in the press.

"Thank you for coming here today. I would like to turn this conference over to Minister Scrimgeour. No further questions will be entertained by myself, Ronald Weasley, or Hermione Granger at this time. Thank you for your understanding."

Lupin looked up expectantly.

"D'you reckon they'll just leave it at that?" Ron asked. "I mean, I can hardly imagine someone like Rita Skeeter or those other reporters just accepting that they aren't allowed to ask us any questions tomorrow."

"I will be there to handle that," Lupin told them. "If any of them shouts out a question, just stay quiet and I'll be glad to remind them of the bargain they struck in order to make the press conference possible in the first place."

"What about the Minister?" Ron continued. "Will he be answering any questions?"

"He would like this to be brief and controlled, the same as we do. I think he only seeks to reassure the wizarding public that the three of you are fine and get your picture on the front page of every publication he can, just to reinforce the point."

"Pictures with him, you mean," Ron said. "So it looks like the Ministry deserves some credit for making everyone safe."

"So, he and I," Hermione pointed to Ron, "will be there just to accept our awards, and we won't be expected to speak."

"That's correct," Lupin agreed.

"Well then. I see no reason why I should be kept away. I'm fit enough to withstand fifteen minutes of having my picture taken."

Ron carefully examined Hermione as she spoke, seeing through the exterior of strength she was trying to portray to the exhaustion underneath. Though she was determinedly sitting up straight in her bed, her skin was still alarmingly white and her eyes were nearly drooping shut.

"If your Healers clear you, I believe you may be right, Hermione," Lupin said, and Ron wondered if Lupin was looking at the same girl that he was.

"I still don't know about this," Ron said, half under his breath. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him and for a moment, he considered that making her angry with him might be the best way to bring her memory back. It would, at least, be familiar to her.

When he looked up, he saw a shadow of that all-too-familiar look of angry determination, but it couldn't quite overshadow her exhaustion. He shouldn't have been surprised, as it wasn't in Hermione's nature to back down from a challenge or admit weakness. Something about that made him feel a bit better. Like Harry, she was still familiar to him. She didn't seem like a different person. She seemed like Hermione, just a bit out of sorts.

"It's not that I don't think you can do it," Ron added quickly. "It's just that I don't want you to feel you have to if you'd be better served by resting here and not worrying about this rubbish." She clearly didn't have an answer for this, but she seemed to soften a bit. "But if the Healers say you're fit enough for it, I agree that you're more than capable of pulling it off."

Their eyes locked over the foot of her bed and she sat up from the pillow a bit. He couldn't read her at all, but something kept him from looking away. Lupin cleared his throat, but neither Ron nor Hermione broke their eye contact.

"I don't want to keep you too long. Aldwyn made it quite clear that you all needed to rest this afternoon and it seems we've all come to an understanding about tomorrow. I'll make the arrangements and I'll also escort you there and back tomorrow."

"All right," Harry answered, and Ron dimly realized that Lupin was probably waiting for a similar answer from him before he left.

"Yeah," Ron said, distractedly, still staring into Hermione's heavy-lidded eyes.

"Well, I'll just be off then," Lupin said, his voice sounding a bit odd. Ron heard him get up and leave the room, and was also dimly aware that Harry had walked him out and then returned to his own bed.

"I don't even know what you know already," Ron said, frustrated at wanting so badly to talk to her but not knowing where to start. "I don't know if you even know my name."

"You're Ron Weasley," she said. "My parents and the Healers told me just a bit."

"Do you know about the spell?" he asked her, feeling oddly formal as he continued to feel locked to her eyes.

"Yes. I know what we did and why we did it," she answered, pausing a few times as she spoke, as though she had to cast around for words even to express such a simple thought.

"Do you know that I ..." he trailed off, his guilt at still having his memory hitting him in one forceful wave.

"I know you're the only one of the three of us who retained his memories, yes," Hermione finished for him, and he had to smile a bit.

"You always did know the answer," he breathed, still scared to blink for fear of losing contact with her.

"I feel as though I know very little about anything at the moment," she said, her eyes finally falling to her bed covers. Ron felt himself physically react to her withdrawal, longing to catch her chin in his hand and urge her to look at him again.

"It won't last," he promised, hoping against hope that what he said was true. "Harry's already remembering things."

Hermione's hands fidgeted as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth and worried it. He hadn't seen her so nervous since they'd stood in the kitchen of the Burrow awaiting the arrival of their OWL results.

"I don't know," she said, quietly. "The Healers said they might or might not return. I should prepare for both eventualities."

Her earlier confidence had completely shattered, leaving her in this nervous and uncertain state. Ron had a terrible feeling, as though every moment he spoke to her, she got worse instead of better. It felt like that moment, from his dream, when he'd suddenly realized none of it was real. He'd known he was about to wake up, and when he did, she'd be gone. He was afraid to even open his mouth now, sure that the next thing he said would only push her further into her worry and confusion.

"Listen, I should let you rest," he told her. "We can talk more later. Aldwyn'll have my head if I keep you up when you should be resting."

"Aldwyn?"

"You'll know her soon enough. She takes care of us here."

As though he'd summoned her by saying her name, Aldwyn came into the room with a familiar-looking flask of potion, walking toward Hermione's bed.

"I hate to interrupt, but this young lady has a spot of resting to attend to."

"See, what did I tell you? I knew she'd be in here to tell me off," Ron said, smiling at Aldwyn.

"No, it's fine," Hermione said, smiling just a little. "I could do with some rest before tomorrow, I think."

"Ah, now _this_ one, I like. I can't tell you how refreshing it is to deal with someone in this room who doesn't constantly talk back," Aldwyn said, smirking at Ron and Harry, both of whom protested with mock outrage. Hermione looked a bit confused, but smiled wanly regardless.

Hermione took the potion, grimacing just a bit as the taste of it registered with her. Aldwyn helped her settle further into the bed, and Hermione appeared to be asleep before Aldwyn could even get the curtains pulled around her for a bit of privacy.

Ron sighed a bit, wondering how he felt about his first moments with the post-spell Hermione. It hadn't gone entirely poorly, but it wasn't exactly as he'd hoped it would be, either. He suspected Harry would ask him about it as soon as he felt Hermione was well asleep and wouldn't overhear them, but he really wasn't ready to talk about it yet. Just as he began to think of a way to head him off, his eyes fell the remaining scrolls of parchment that sat on his bedside table.

"I'm going to read your letter now, if that's all right, Harry," Ron said, noticing that Harry had been just about to speak before Ron trumped him.

"Erm, well, sure," Harry said, looking as though he'd like to press Ron for details anyway, but had decided against it.

"You don't mind if I pull my curtains, do you? I mean, I'll hand it over to you to read as soon as I'm done ... it's just, I'd like a bit of privacy at first."

"No, no. Go ahead. Perhaps I'll think about reading one of your letters."

"Well, you're welcome to read mine, mate. Like I told Ginny, there's nothing in there I wouldn't willingly tell you now myself."

With that, Ron retreated to his bed and pulled the curtains shut, fingering his letter from Hermione in his hands for a moment before he replaced it on the table and took Harry's instead. Somehow, it just didn't seem right to read Hermione's letter to him until he'd at least told her they existed.


	20. Chapter 20

_Letters Interlude #1_

* * *

Ron,

I'll try to keep to the point, as I expect you've covered most of the specifics in the letter you've written to yourself. You don't need me to remind you about trolls or Aragog or flying on Thestrals, but there are a few things I want you to know.

I know that being my friend has been difficult. Being my friend is dangerous. Frustrating. That's how you've ended up where you are now. I can't deny feeling guilty for it, though I know that anything that's happened to us in the hours after I write this is all due to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I've always felt guilty for involving you and Hermione in all of this, but I realize now it's as much a part of your destinies as it is mine. You aren't the kind of people who could let a friend do something like this alone. For that, I owe you more than I could ever repay.

There are things you need to know about you and me, and there are things you need to know about you and Hermione. We've spent too long getting to where we are to lose it all now.

I'm not sure how to say this without it coming off wrong, but I'll just say it and hope you take it the right way. I know you've always felt overshadowed by me, as though you weren't as important somehow. Surely, you've written to yourself about Voldemort killing my parents and the ridiculous 'Boy Who Lived' nonsense, as it's how the three of us got into this rubbish in the first place.

Hermione told me once, when you and I spent far too long during our fourth year not speaking to each other, how you must have felt, having so many successful older brothers and then coming to school only to befriend one of the most famous people in our world. I never knew how to tell you what a complete load hippogriff's dung it was, that you would feel as though you weren't as important.

All these years, I've had two people I knew I could depend on. The two of you have been there for everything, whether I asked you or not. And Ron, you introduced me to the wizarding world, telling me everything I needed to know that I couldn't learn from Hermione or one of her books. You fought by my side whenever you could, sacrificing and risking everything over and over again. And that's not even the thing I'm most grateful for.

What I am most grateful for is you, just being my mate. Trying to get by in Potions lessons, finding girls to ask to the Yule Ball in fourth year, playing Quidditch, forgiving me for fancying your sister. Those moments of being normal, those are what I need you to remember the most. We're the same, you and me, just two blokes trying to figure it all out.

Which brings me to the one thing I need you to figure out the most, and if you haven't written this to yourself, I will hex you until your own mum doesn't recognize you. As difficult as it's been to watch at times, I've seen the way you and Hermione are with each other. When we were younger, I would have said the idea that two people who row with each other as much as you two do could also fancy each other as much as I know you do was mental.

In fact, I still think it's a bit mental. But I can't imagine either of you with anyone else.

There was a moment, in our sixth year, when I thought it had finally happened. You don't need the specifics (though I suspect you wrote to yourself about it) but the two of you were finally going to go on a date. I wasn't sure how I felt about it, to be honest, so I tried not to think about it too much. I wish I hadn't done that. I wish I'd talked to you then.

I don't want to be too hard on you, but it's important you understand this next bit: 

It all went to rubbish, and it was all your fault.

Read that one more time before you go on.

You let your insecurities get in the way of believing that she might have feelings for you, and you hurt her before she could hurt you. And you did hurt her, Ron. More than I have the patience to explain to you here.

For Merlin's sake, don't let it happen again. I don't care what either of you do or don't remember. You love her, and you're a lucky prat. She'd murder me for telling you this, but she loves you just as much. Yes, I'm telling her the same thing, so it's no good trying to pretend she hasn't noticed or isn't aware that you're completely, utterly besotted with her. Memory or no memory.

Now get on with it. You'll thank me later.

Your friend,

_Harry_

* * *

Harry,

If I know you, even without your memory, you're probably sitting there, reading this, feeling guilty about what's happened.

Well, mate. You can stop that right now.

I know you don't remember it now, but I've told you a million times that Hermione and I help you because we're friends, and you're not responsible for what happens to us when we follow you of our own free will. You'd do the same for us, if one of us was the one Voldemort wanted to kill.

Hell, that really didn't come out right. You know what I mean.

You were the only one of the three of us who was against using the spell. Hermione and I were willing to do it as soon as it became obvious it was the only way. It took forever to talk you into it, and you nearly stopped speaking to Hermione in the process. She couldn't figure out why you wouldn't consider it, even though I knew it was because you couldn't set aside your guilt to see reason. Didn't tell her, of course. She can be scary at times, Hermione.

We've lost people in this mess, Harry. I'm sure you wrote about it, and I'm sure you're sitting there feeling guilty for that too.

Well, don't. None of it was your fault. You didn't ask for this. You might be his main target, but he isn't really just after you. He's after all of us, either to kill the Muggle-borns like Hermione, or to make the rest of us live by his rules.

So, as charming as you are, Harry, we all have our own reasons for wanting to fight as well. So just shove all that guilt aside and get on with it now, right?

Oh, Ginny'll kill me if I leave this bit out. Blimey, do you know how hard it is to write about my sister this way?

Ginny, she's my younger sister. Well, you're in love with her, mate. As queasy as it makes me to say it, you're good together, too. When you're not trying to be all noble and finishing with her for her own protection, that is. Don't be a prat, Harry. You made each other happy and I'm sure you can again.

Merlin, I hope that was enough. Just keep your hands to yourself when you snog her, all right?

_Ron_


	21. Chapter 21

Ron tossed listlessly to his side, fighting against the blanket as he dreamt in the early morning hours.

_She's lying for us_ , Ron thought in the dream, his mouth falling open in amazement. _She looked right at those professors and took all the blame for herself._ When Ron chanced a look at him, Harry looked just as surprised as Ron felt.

Words were flying around him, yet he hardly heard anything of what was being said. Some part of him realized that Hermione had gotten off much easier than he or Harry would have, but he was still floored that Miss Goody-Goody Granger was taking the blame entirely on her own shoulders. In the end, none of them were in any real trouble. He couldn't believe it. His mind was still whirling when Hermione gave him the smallest smile as he helplessly gawped at her.

Ron sat up in bed, coming instantly awake and feeling, just for a moment, as though he was still eleven years old as he had been in his dream. Hermione had given him that smile back then, and that was the moment he knew everything would be different. He wouldn't call her insufferable anymore, she would be quieter about correcting him in lessons, and they would all be friends.

It was the same smile she'd given him the day before, after Aldwyn had shown up with the potion. Merlin, could it mean the same thing twice? The change had been so effortless when they were kids. One day they were enemies, and the next she was rewriting their essays and she was sitting with them in the Great Hall. Did that smile mean that she'd decided they shouldn't act like strangers toward each other?

Ron hoped their textbooks would come from Hogwarts today. Nothing would make Hermione feel more like herself than pointing her nose at the binding of one of those books she loved so much. And if it made her more comfortable, he'd be willing to sit there revising all day long.

He groaned as he suddenly remembered why they couldn't do that ... the reporters. He wondered how much time they had before Lupin would come for them. The ceiling's color, a light yellow with just a hint of blue mixed in to make it look a bit green, told him it was still early morning. Lupin hadn't given them a time, but it couldn't be this early. Aldwyn probably wouldn't check on them for a bit. So if Hermione was awake, perhaps they could talk—

He shook his head. As much as he wanted to see her, to make her remember, he knew she needed to rest. He'd spent too much time staring at her motionless body lying across the room from him and he didn't want to do anything to jeopardize her recovery.

Staring at the curtains that cut him off from the rest of the room only underscored how alone he felt; more alone than he'd ever felt in a room with his two best friends. Harry was coming back, he tried to tell himself. Hermione would too. He just had to try to help them.

Now, if only he knew how to do that.

"Ron!"

Ron's head jerked toward Harry's bed. There was an insistence in Harry's voice that got Ron up and past his bed curtains as quickly as he could move himself.

Harry was sitting up in his bed, his unruly hair plastered to the sides of his face with sweat. His eyes were wide with surprise, but there was something else there too.

"I had a dream, but I think it was something that really happened. I was in a forest." Harry looked up for a moment, as though he was trying to straighten it all out in his mind and he needed time to make sense of it all. "I killed Voldemort."

"The Forbidden Forest, at Hogwarts. Yeah, that's where it happened. What did you see?"

Harry looked pensive for a moment, then he started to speak. "Well, I was running. I knew where I was going, but I didn't _know_ how I knew. And I felt ... odd. Strong. Almost ... invincible." Harry looked up from the bedcovers at Ron. "Was that the spell, making me feel that way?"

"Yeah, must have been," Ron told him. "That's what it was supposed to be like for you, according to Hermione."

"That wasn't what it was like for you?"

"It was ... different. We didn't need that power, Harry. You did," Ron said, avoiding looking Harry directly in the eye by focusing on the way the new injury on Harry's forehead bisected the old lightning bolt scar. He was being deliberately evasive, but he and Hermione had promised each other never to tell Harry what the spell had been like for them.

"So, what happened then? Were you just weak?"

"Well, yeah. You know, weak. A bit unfocused."

"It knocked you out, though. Isn't that how you ended up unconscious?"

"When you hit him with whatever it was you did to him to end him, I think that's when we passed out."

"But how did you know I was in the forest? Could you see what I was seeing?"

"Not exactly. Just bits. And it wasn't 'seeing', exactly. It was more like sensing where you were and how you were feeling."

"Did it hurt?"

Ron wasn't sure why the question took him by surprise. Perhaps it was because he'd been hoping Harry wouldn't ask him directly or because he couldn't quite stomach telling him a direct lie. The pause was long and Ron had a feeling that anything he said now would still betray the truth. It had been a simple question, and his withheld answer could only mean one thing.

"It did, didn't it?" Harry said, his expression unreadable.

"It wasn't comfortable, no," Ron said, hoping to leave it at that.

"How bad was it? It was really bad, wasn't it?" Harry said, seeming a bit more agitated.

"Harry, it's over. Done. There's nothing to be done about it now."

"Did I know? Before we did it?"

"Harry, there wasn't time. You had to focus on what _you_ had to do. You had to face Voldemort _alone_."

"That's just it," Harry breathed. "I wasn't alone."

"Well, I know that's not how it must have felt to you. It must have felt as though Hermione and I were with you, at least in a way, but—"

"No," Harry interrupted. "I _really_ wasn't alone. There was someone else there with me, in the forest."

"I don't think ... wait. For just a moment, in the middle of the spell, I felt like there was someone with you. I didn't think much of it. Nothing I saw was really clear and I guess I thought I'd been wrong."

"You weren't wrong. She was there."

"She? Who? Who was there, Harry? I thought maybe Lupin stayed with you, but you just said—"

"Your sister," Harry said, sounding as though he didn't even really believe what he was saying. "Lupin stayed behind to help hold off the Death Eaters, but Ginny must have followed me. When I got to Voldemort, she was right behind me. Saved my neck, actually. Voldemort did something ... I couldn't hear what spell ... and she blocked it somehow."

"Ginny? What in the bloody hell was she thinking?"

"In the dream, I was worried for her too, but I can't deny that she's probably the reason I survived long enough to finish Voldemort. After the spell she sent at Voldemort blocked whatever he'd tried to do to me, he was just distracted enough for me to use what Lupin and I had practiced. I don't know what happened then ... that's all I saw before I woke up just now."

"Leave it to Ginny to completely ignore everything you or I ever told her about staying out of—"

"I can hardly be cross with her, Ron. Her following me ... it's the reason I'm still alive."

"Imagine the nerve of her, getting angry with me about the letters when all this time she'd been keeping a secret like this!" Ron raged, pointedly ignoring everything Harry had just said. "Amazing, isn't it?"

"Ron, I'm not angry, and you shouldn't be either," Harry said, looking as though he wished he'd never said anything about it. "We made it through and a couple of other people weren't that lucky. The last thing we should do is row amongst ourselves at how it all happened."

"So you don't care that she—"

"Of course I do. But she's fine, and I needed her." Harry got a faraway look in his eyes before he squeezed them shut, leaning back against his pillow as he gripped the sheet in his hands.

"Harry! Are you all right?"

"I'm in love with your sister," Harry whispered, and his eyes popped open again. "I can't breathe. Merlin, I have to see her, Ron."

"Maybe she'll be here today, mate," Ron said, carefully. If he didn't know better, he'd say Harry was on the wrong side of a dose of Fred and George's Love Potion.

Aldwyn chose that moment to come in with three trays suspended in front of her, her wand twitching at them to keep them aloft, and Ron suddenly didn't have to deal with his lovesick friend alone. _Not that I'm much better_ , Ron thought, looking quickly at those annoyingly closed bed curtains of Hermione's.

"Good morning, my two young troublemakers," Aldwyn said, separating two of the trays from the third with a poke of her wand and sending them towards Harry's bed. "You two can keep talking there while you eat, if you'd like."

She bustled toward Hermione's bed, peeking to the other side before she landed the last tray on Hermione's bedside table. She cast a warming charm over the food and Ron felt a bit disappointed that Aldwyn hadn't chosen to wake her for breakfast.

"Go on then, you should eat. Mr. Lupin will be here in, oh, just over an hour now, to help the two of you get presentable for your encounter with the press this afternoon." She smirked at Ron a bit. "Merlin help him, I hope he's bought out the better part of Sleekeezy's to deal with that hair. Both of you."

"Hey!" Ron protested, his hand flying to his head in an attempt to smooth down his hair. When had his hair gotten so long? Had he looked like a madman when Hermione had seen him the previous day?

"Don't worry, I think you're both stunning despite those slightly unruly mops," she said. "I'll be back in a bit to wake Miss Granger. I'd hate for your sister to take her completely by surprise, Ron."

"Ginny's coming?" Harry said quickly, suddenly staring at Aldwyn with great interest.

"Yes. Your Mr. Lupin thought Hermione might want a bit of help to freshen up as well. Hopefully she'll be comfortable with someone she was friends with before she lost her memory. Right, now eat, will you? You have a big day ahead of you."

The boys ate quietly, Ron sitting rather difficultly at the foot of Harry's bed, cross-legged and balancing his tray on his knees. He wanted to talk to Harry, but after learning that Ginny would be there soon, Harry seemed to descend into thoughtful silence. 

Just thinking about Ginny made Ron a bit peeved. He longed to rail at her for doing something as reckless as to follow Harry without a plan and without consulting with anyone else but something told him that Harry wouldn't appreciate it at all if Ginny's visit was dominated by the screaming row that would cause.

The hour passed quickly and before Ron knew it, Lupin had arrived with some regular clothes for each of them. Harry seemed rooted to the spot, determined to wait for Ginny to follow. Much to Harry's obvious displeasure, Lupin took them to a separate room where they could wash up, use some grooming charms, and generally make themselves ready to appear on the front page of every major wizarding publication. As ready as they'd ever be, anyway.

"Do you think she'll still be here by the time we get back?" Harry asked, sounding a bit anxious.

"Who?" Ron asked, smirking a bit. He knew full well who Harry was referring to, but some part of him couldn't help needling Harry a bit.

"Ginny," Harry said, blushing a bit at his own reflection in the mirror as he struggled to get his hair to sit flatter against his head. He sighed. "This is a completely lost cause." He lifted his hand and a few chunks of hair stood up with it.

"Mate, I hate to tell you this, but it always has been. Besides, she doesn't fancy you for your hair. Good job she doesn't, really."

Ron just managed to duck in time as Harry's towel whistled over his head and flew across the room. Ron turned to retrieve it and found Lupin standing near the door, holding it in one hand as he surveyed both of them with a quietly amused expression on his face.

"As we have reached the flying linens phase, can I assume the two of you have made yourselves ready? I can take you to a room where you can wait until everyone's arrived. I have a copy of your speech, Harry, so we should be all set."

"We're not going back to the room?" Harry said, looking quite disappointed.

"No, I'm afraid not. Healer's Assistant Aldwyn was quite clear about giving the young ladies a bit of privacy. Hermione's mum and Ginny will likely fuss over Hermione until the last second."

Ron was forcibly reminded of the last time Hermione had disappeared for an absurdly long time to 'get ready', the Yule Ball of their fourth year. His mouth went dry at the thought of how stunned he'd been at the entirely different way she'd made herself lovely and how insanely jealous it had made him of Krum. The thought that she'd spent all that time to look that way for someone she barely knew had made him utterly mad. It had taken him years to fully realize that it was largely because he thought she was beautiful with or without all the trouble she'd gone to and he might have had the right to tell her just that if he hadn't been too daft to ask her to the bloody ball in the first place.

Ron allowed himself to be led to a room on another floor of St. Mungo's, although he wasn't really paying attention to where they were going. He was vaguely aware that Harry and Lupin were discussing the conference and Ron had an idea that he should probably be listening as well, but he couldn't quite tear his mind away from memories of that disastrous Yule Ball.

Merlin, they'd ended up screaming at each other, mostly due to his jealousy and the ridiculous accusations of his that it had caused. He hoped things might be different this time around. He certainly didn't have to be jealous of Harry seeing Hermione. It was clear that something had clicked in Harry's mind and he might never have eyes for anyone other than Ginny again.

There was just the matter of the legions of blokes who would see Hermione's image on the front page of all the rags that had sent their reporters to St. Mungo's today.

Well, that was it, then. He'd just have to go and _Obliviate_ every available male wizard who might have gotten any funny ideas. Sure, it would take some time, but it simply had to be done.

"Ron? Have you heard a word I've said?" Harry asked, leaning forward in his chair. Ron realized, with a start, that they were both seated in a room he didn't even remember entering and Lupin was gone.

"Sorry, Harry. Say it again and I promise I'll pay attention this time."

"I said, 'I don't get on with Minister Scrimgeour very well, do I?'"

"Well, better than Fudge, the Minister who came before him, but still, not very well, no. The entire Ministry's all show and no substance. Now that it's over, we should probably just put it behind us though, mate."

The door to the room opened and Ginny entered, followed by Hermione. Hermione's hair was shining, pulled back in some simple, elegant way from her face. There was a subtle glow on her cheeks and she was wearing the jumper that Ron had come to think of over the past year as his favorite. He wondered if Ginny had somehow known this and chosen it on purpose just to watch him go mad.

Before Ron could think of a single thing to say to her, Lupin appeared through the other door and beckoned to them.

"It's time. The faster you go out there and do this, the faster it will be over. Please remember what we all agreed to; Harry reads the statement, and there are no other comments made. It's for your safety and your sanity. No matter what anyone says, including that hateful wretch Rita Skeeter, stick to the plan."

"Bloody hell. I thought we'd agreed to muzzle that Skeeter cow," Ron complained.

"Some things are out of our hands. You'll frustrate her most if you refuse to comment, so that's another reason to keep to what we've agreed."

Lupin put a gentle hand on Harry's back and guided him through the door. Ron followed closely behind. He could hear Hermione's gentle footfalls behind him as he walked.

The next thing he knew, he'd been simultaneously blinded by a score of photographers taking their picture and deafened by the sound of several dozen people trying to yell over each other.


	22. Chapter 22

"Everyone, please!" a thin, overworked-looking young man pleaded, waving his arms in a fruitless attempt to calm down the group of people gathered across from the elevated platform that Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves on when they entered the room.

The Aurors who normally kept watch outside their room in the Spell Damage ward stood to either side of them, one of them repeatedly fingering his wand as though he'd like to vanish the entire bunch. Ron suddenly liked that Auror a bit more than he had before.

After a bit more yelling, the reporters and their photographers finally seemed to calm down. The thin man seemed to take this as a cue of sorts, and he went to yet another door and opened it with an ostentatious flourish. If Ron didn't know better, he'd say the man was Percy under the effects of a Polyjuice Potion.

Minister Scrimgeour entered the room from the third door, brushing past his aide and coming to a stop in the center of the platform, standing directly in front of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. He carried three velvet boxes in his hands which Ron assumed contained whatever it was you got when you were awarded the Order of Merlin.

Order of Bleeding Merlin. As though that would make up for all the trouble the Ministry had caused Harry, and how useless they'd been against Voldemort. The only thing the Ministry had proved themselves good at was waiting for Harry to take care of things for them as they tried to convince everyone else that they had things under control.

"I'd like to thank each of you for coming to this awards ceremony. I don't need to tell you the names of the three young people standing behind me, or what they've accomplished in the last few weeks. I can only ask that you witness as they are awarded these tokens of the Ministry's gratitude for their accomplishments.

"Harry Potter, it is because of you and your friends that the wizarding world can now look forward to a future of peace and prosperity. It is with great pride that I present you, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger with these medals, representing the Order of Merlin, First Class."

Scrimgeour turned to them and handed each of them a velvet box. Ron thought briefly of opening it, but found he really had no interest in what it held or why he'd gotten it. The flashes of light that came from the photographer's wands as they all snapped picture after picture intensified again and he struggled to keep his expression neutral.

He felt Hermione waver a bit next to him and he forgot his anger as a flare of concerned panic went through him. He put his palm firmly on the small of her back, giving her something to lean against. When he felt her weight pressing against him with only her thin jumper separating his skin from hers, he found he suddenly had trouble swallowing. He chanced a quick look at her, and she gave him a look of gratitude.

"I believe Mr. Potter has a few words for you now. I will be glad to take questions from all of you afterward," Scrimgeour added, then moved away to leave Harry a path to the front of the platform.

Harry took several quick steps forward and read the statement Lupin had helped them write. Quills flew over parchment as Harry spoke and Ron tried determinedly not to stare daggers at Rita Skeeter and her ridiculous, fussy purple hat as she pursed her lips and whispered at that bloody quill that was charmed to write her lies.

Harry reached the end of the statement, recoiling from the sudden outburst of every reporter in the room when Harry told them that only Minister Scrimgeour would be taking questions. Scrimgeour stepped back to the front of the platform as Harry walked back to stand next to Ron, but the reporters didn't seem to take the hint. Scrimgeour tried several times, unsuccessfully, to quiet the reporters as they yelled questions to Harry. Ron could only pick out a few of them through the din.

"Harry, can we be sure he's gone? After all, we all thought he'd been dealt with before and he came back, didn't he?" yelled one thin, bearded wizard near the front of the room.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione! What's keeping you here at St. Mungo's? How were you injured and how are you all recovering?"

"Come on, Harry. How'd you do it? Why are you keeping it from us? Was it Dark magic?"

"Everyone! Everyone, please!" Scrimgeour roared somewhat uncharacteristically, drawing a stunned silence for a moment, punctuated by the occasional protest at being denied further access to their 'Hogwarts Heroes'. 

Scrimgeour gestured to his aide and whispered something in his ear. The aide turned directly to the three of them and gestured toward the door that would lead them back to where Lupin awaited them, and they all stared dumbly back at him for a moment before Harry was the first of them to walk toward the door. 

Ron gave Hermione a gentle push so that he could follow her through the door, but felt horrible when it caused her to stumble a bit.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, catching her arm and helping her stay upright. She didn't say anything until it was safely closed behind them.

"No, it's fine, really. I just lost my balance."

Ron bit back the impulse to tell her that was why he hadn't wanted her to come in the first place. The words seemed so close to the surface, so easy to say. The old Ron, the one who hadn't had to face the possibility of a future without the Hermione _he_ knew in it, surely would have done so and caused a meaningless row and several days of annoyed silence between the two of them.

"Here, Hermione. Sit for a moment," Lupin said, pulling a chair over to her. Ron helped her into the chair, noting how her hands were shaking and her face had gone even more pale.

"We need Aldwyn here. I want someone to take a look at Hermione," Ron said, looking directly at Lupin.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, though her trembling body said otherwise. "It can wait until we're back in the room."

"We're not going anywhere until I'm sure you're all right," Ron told her. "It won't take long." He looked at Lupin again, silently asking him for help. He was annoyed at the hint of a smile on the man's face, but forgave him when he turned and left the room to find help. Ron could hear questions being shouted at Scrimgeour on the other side of the door and decided it would be better to try to block out whatever daft thing the Minister was telling them. No matter what they asked, the story would be the same anyway. They would only be told what the Ministry thought it was safe for everyone to know, and for once, Ron agreed.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, kneeling next to the opposite side of Hermione's chair.

"Honestly, you're both making such a fuss. I simply lost my balance, that's all," Hermione said, blushing a little.

This was probably a bit much for her, having both of them hovering over her when she didn't even remember them. Ron wondered if he should pull back for a moment to give her more breathing room when the side door suddenly opened and Ginny rushed in and knelt directly in front of Hermione's chair.

"Hermione! I was so worried when they hustled you lot out of there. Are you—"

"I'm fine, really," Hermione said, shrinking back into the chair as a third person gathered around her.

Ron took a chance that Harry would understand what he meant as he gave Harry a significant look, then cocked his head toward Ginny. Harry turned a subtle shade of green and Ron realized that Harry had misinterpreted him a bit. He'd meant for Harry to pull Ginny away to give Hermione some space, but Harry seemed to interpret it as 'well, here's your chance with Ginny, mate.' Ron tried not to think too much about it. Whatever Harry thought, the end result would be that Hermione would be more comfortable.

"Ginny, can I speak to you for a moment?" Harry asked, gesturing toward the far corner of the room. Ginny blushed and nodded, accepting Harry's hand as he helped her to her feet and led her away.

"I didn't think it would be so difficult," Hermione said, almost to herself. "It didn't sound that way. A short walk, standing there for a few minutes, and then back to the room. I feel as though I've run a mile."

"They can levitate you back to the room," Ron told her. "There's no shame in it. They did it to me when I first got there." Hermione didn't look completely convinced. "C'mon. I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"I don't know why I'm being so contrary."

Ron snorted a bit and Hermione looked mildly offended.

"Hermione, before the spell you would have been the first one to insist that Harry or I go to a Healer at the slightest symptom, but you were also the first one to ignore when you were exhausted or feeling under the weather. Combine that with the fact that the easiest way to get you to do anything is to tell you that you probably won't be able to accomplish it, and this entire afternoon was a recipe for disaster."

"You know me really well, don't you?"

Ron watched her for a moment as she stared down at her hands, folded in her lap. He wasn't sure what to say. In some ways he knew her better than anyone, but he knew there was also so much he had never been able to see. His belief that he'd never be good enough for her had forced him to ignore certain things, convince himself they weren't there.

"I think I know you even better than I thought I did," he said, deciding to be completely honest with her. It was the most difficult thing he'd ever done, saying something to her without trying to protect himself or hide his feelings from her.

"I wish you could just tell me, but I can't imagine where you'd even start. I suppose it's probably better just to remember it on my own, isn't it?"

"Well ..." Ron stalled, knowing the time to tell her about the letters may have come. The thought that she could soon be reading what she wrote to herself—and blimey, what he and Harry had written to her—made him feel so queasy he was sure he'd turned as pale as she was.

"What?" Hermione asked, her voice soft in his ears, making him wish more than anything that he knew what the right choice was. 

Should he give her the letters, hoping they wouldn't overwhelm her and that she might want to try to rebuild all they'd been to each other? Or should he wait until she started to remember things on her own, and then give them to her? He'd risk her anger for withholding them of course, but that paled against the notion that she would pull away from him if she was uncomfortable with what she read if she read them too soon.

Ron was still wrestling with how to answer her when the door opened again. Aldwyn bustled through it, preceded by the hovering chair Ron remembered from his arrival at St. Mungo's.

"I was told one of you was a bit tired and could use some assistance," Aldwyn said, winking at Hermione.

"Really, I'm sure it's not as terrible as that. I just felt a bit woozy there for a moment."

"Ah, we take no chances here. Not on my watch." Aldwyn allowed the chair to rest on the ground as she came to Hermione, waving her wand and muttering a few spells that were now all too familiar to Ron. If he never heard another spell that monitored their physical conditions again, it wouldn't be a day too soon.

"So, I'm all right then?" Hermione asked, obviously trying to look strong and confident again through her fatigue.

"You'll be just fine. You just need more rest, that's all. Let's get you back into bed, and I'll make sure this lot is quiet while you get some sleep."

Ron looked over in the corner at his sister and Harry, both of whom seemed to be in their own universe with each other. Ron doubted that either of them had stirred even when Aldwyn had entered the room moments ago.

"Couldn't Harry stay here with Ginny, just for a bit? The Aurors are here, I'm sure they can keep an eye on them," Ron asked Aldwyn, wondering if she'd be able to help Harry at all. If she'd seen him earlier that day, after the dream he'd had, Ron was sure she'd see her way clear to leaving them together for a few minutes.

Aldwyn sighed that deep, heavy sigh that told him he was asking her for something she wasn't sure she could get away with, but she didn't refuse him outright.

"She helps him remember," Ron added, hoping the idea that this could help Harry recover was what Aldwyn needed to hear to bend the rules for them.

"Just for a bit," Aldwyn said in that long-suffering way that only she and Ron's mum seemed to have perfected.

"We'll go back and we'll _both_ rest," Ron promised. "So, it's not all bad, is it?"

"Yes, and one of the Aurors will go with you, as well. Let me just go signal one of them and we'll be on our way." 

Aldwyn left them alone again and Ron wondered if Hermione would remember what they'd been talking about before Aldwyn had come in.

"What were you saying before? It seemed as though there was something you wanted to tell me," Hermione said, looking so hopeful Ron wasn't sure he could let her down, even if it was for her own good.

"Well, I don't see why we have to wait for you to remember things on your own. I told Harry about things that we all did together and it may have helped him a bit. I can certainly do the same for you." He felt awful, knowing this was a natural time to mention the letters and he'd let it pass.

"So, when we get back to the room?" she asked eagerly.

"I'm not sure about that. I think Aldwyn has a potion with your name on it."

"But later, then?" she pressed him, looking just a bit disappointed.

"Of course. We'll have plenty of time later."

Aldwyn came back with an Auror in tow and they escorted Ron and Hermione back to the room. They left Harry and Ginny behind, just as Aldwyn had promised. Neither of them were surprised when there were potions ready for both of them to help them get a few hours of sleep, but there was something else awaiting them as well.

"What are these?" Hermione asked as Aldwyn hovered her over to her bed, gesturing at a stack of books that sat in the middle of her mattress.

"Brilliant," Ron said, taking his Charms textbook from his own bed and holding it in front of himself. He'd never been so happy to see schoolwork before. "They're our books, from Hogwarts, our school. I asked for them to be delivered here so we'd have something constructive to do."

Aldwyn hovered Hermione's stack to her bedside table, but Hermione grabbed the top book as it flew past her. She opened it to the middle and took a whiff of the pages, closing her eyes as the smell of the parchment and ink came over her. She seemed a little embarrassed when she looked up.

"I'm not sure why I did that," she said, looking a bit flustered. "This _is_ mine though, isn't it?"

"You love the smell of books," Ron said, walking to her bedside, irresistibly drawn to her side as he talked about something that was so undeniably _her_. "Especially the old ones. You always have."

"Will you tell me why? After we wake up, I mean," she added quickly, looking at Aldwyn.

"Yeah," he answered, wishing it felt right like the right time to tell her that and every other reason he was completely, irretrievably in love with her. "We'll talk after the potion wears off."

Hermione smiled and accepted the vial from Aldwyn, and Ron did the same. They both got into their beds and downed the bitter liquid. Aldwyn didn't pull either of their curtains, though she'd hesitated for a moment at Hermione's before she'd cast a glance at Ron and then left them open instead. The last thing Ron saw before his eyes slipped shut was Hermione, snuggled against her pillow and sleeping with a small smile on her lips.


	23. Chapter 23

Ron awoke, feeling a bit uncomfortable after sleeping in his clothes. He looked up and saw Harry and Hermione both sleeping, Hermione also still fully clothed from the press conference.

_That can't be pleasant_ , he thought. Thoroughly inappropriate thoughts of helping her become more comfortable danced through his head before he forced the images away. They'd only truly kissed once, for Merlin's sake. He hardly had to right to picture himself pulling that jumper—his favorite, mind you—over her head, even if he could pretend he was only concerned with her comfort.

He sighed and took the Charms textbook from his bedside table, opening it to find a note from Professor Flitwick, suggesting the subjects they should cover in their studies if they wished to pass their N.E.W.T.s. He was about halfway through the first passage on Flitwick's list when he heard a stirring from Hermione's bed.

"Hermione?" he asked, putting the book aside and sitting up. "Are you awake?"

"Mmm, yes," she answered sleepily, her head lifting from the pillow just enough to look at him. "How long have I been out?"

Ron shrugged. "I'm not sure. A few hours, maybe."

Harry stirred a bit at the sounds of voices around him, and as much as Ron wanted to know if Harry had spoken to Ginny about following him into the Forbidden Forest, he did find that he wanted a little time alone with Hermione just a bit more.

"Have you started?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the book Ron held in his hands.

Ron took his wand from under his pillow and waved it, muttering, " _Muffliato_ ," before he answered.

"I don't want to wake Harry," he explained. "That spell will let us talk—"

"—without being overheard," Hermione finished for him, and Ron was surprised for a moment before he remembered that they both seemed to have retained all of their magical knowledge. "I don't like that spell, though. I don't know why, but hearing the incantation ..." she trailed off.

Thinking of Snape, Ron frowned at the thought of using one of the slimy git's spells. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not too keen on it anymore, myself. It's the only spell I know that will let us talk without disturbing Harry, though."

Hermione nodded, still looking a bit disquieted. Ron decided to switch the subject back to something more comfortable for both of them.

"I was just starting the reading for Charms," he said. "D'you want to work on it together?"

"Sure," she said, smiling as she found the correct textbook in the stack next to her bed. "Do you want to come over here?"

"All right," he agreed, getting up and sliding a chair over to her bedside. He sat and opened the book again, seeing that she also had a list from Flitwick and had already turned to the correct page. Ron began to read as well, feeling a bit fidgety in the hard wooden chair. He tried not to shift too much, but he simply couldn't find a way to hold the book or a place to put his legs that didn't make him wish he was better at cushioning charms.

Hermione shut the book suddenly, leaving one finger marking the page where she'd left off. "Are you quite all right?" she asked, with just a hint of exasperation in her voice.

"Yes," he answered quickly, his voice jumping up about an octave in surprise. He cleared his throat and repeated his answer, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Why are you moving around so much then?" she asked.

"It's nothing," he said. "The chair just isn't very comfortable, that's all."

"Well, stop being ridiculous and sit up here," she said, leaning forward to pat the end of her bed. He stared dumbly at her in response. There was something about being on the same bed with Hermione that just didn't seem ... smart. He'd just fantasized about undressing her, for Merlin's sake. After the things he'd done with Lavender, sharing the overstuffed chairs in the Gryffindor common room, he'd thought he'd never be shy around a girl again.

He should have known he was wrong about that. Hermione was ... different.

"What on earth are you waiting for?" Hermione said. "There's plenty of room. I'm not very tall, as it turns out," she said, patting the bed again.

"Right," he said, trying to act as though he had no concerns about being so close to her as he got out of the chair and sat on the very end of her bed. He folded his legs to the side so they dangled to the floor to keep them out of her way, then leaned forward and spread the textbook out in front of himself.

"That's better then, isn't it? Still more room if you need it," she said, burying herself back in her book.

"Yeah," he said, trying to concentrate on a long, boring passage of reasons why experimental charms shouldn't be tested without taking several precautions first.

"It's no good," Hermione said, slamming her book shut again.

"I'll move," he said quickly, shifting his weight toward the floor and starting to slide off the bed until Hermione caught his arm and stopped him.

"No, no. That's not it. I know we should really get a start on this work, but I just can't concentrate."

Ron stared at her, sure that the world had just tilted sideways. Hermione Granger, unable to concentrate on schoolwork. He suppressed a smirk.

"You said you'd tell me about the past," she added, pulling on his arm until he settled back on the bed, closer to her this time. "Why I love the smell of these books so much. Or anything else, it doesn't matter. Whatever you think I should know," she said, her words rushed together in her excitement.

He cast around in his memory, trying to find something meaningful he could tell her. Yes, they'd been through a lot of extraordinary things, but whenever he looked at her he thought more of walking to lessons together or passing the pumpkin juice to her in the Great Hall.

She frowned after a moment, apparently curious at his long silence. "Well, what did you tell Harry when he woke up?" she asked, trying to prompt him.

Ron thought back to their train ride to Hogwarts at the beginning of their first year, to the little girl with the unruly hair who'd barged into their compartment looking for Neville's toad. It reminded him how close they'd come to never being friends at all, and he didn't think that telling her that they didn't get on right away was the right place to begin things with her now.

"Well, you see," he stalled, "Harry and I were friends first. You came a bit after. Can't really start with the same story."

"Oh," she said, looking disappointed. "I thought we'd been friends for quite some time," she said, picking at her bed covers.

"No, no," he said, quickly. "We have been. You see, something happened in our first year at school. A ... project. We kind of, well, helped each other with it." He felt horribly guilty as he glossed over how the troll had nearly killed her and how it had all been his fault. This couldn't possibly help her get her memory back. "It was a really difficult project, and the three of us have been friends ever since."

"You grew up in an all-wizarding family, didn't you?" she asked, and he nodded. "But Harry and I didn't. I imagine you must have been quite a help to the two of us at first, weren't you?"

Ron snorted. "Are you kidding? Hermione, you knew more about Hogwarts and magic than I did from the beginning." She looked confused, so he tried to explain further. "You see, you actually read all of these," he said, gesturing to the stack of books next to her bed. "Sometimes Harry and I, well, don't. You kind of, I suppose, got us through school."

"I see," she said, looking a bit sad. "Is that mostly why we were friends?"

"Course not!" Ron said, panicking at the impression he'd given her. "We're friends because ... well, because we are," he finished, lamely.

"Ah," she said, not looking entirely convinced.

"Really. You do help us with our lessons, but I'd like to think we've helped you as well. Maybe not with lessons, but with other things, like how to enjoy taking time off."

"I must be horribly boring," she said in a low voice, as though she was talking only to herself.

"Blimey, Hermione. I'm making a mess of things. Look at me," he said, staring at her until she met his eyes. "We _are_ friends. Real friends."

"Why do I feel so strange around you, then? I look at Harry," she said, looking away for a moment before she returned her gaze to Ron's, "and I feel comfortable. Maybe a little protective, but I'm not sure—"

"No, that's about right. We're both rather protective of him. Comes with having a best mate who had a few dozen people wanting him dead, I think."

"But I look at you, and it's so complicated. I know we knew each other. I believe we were friends, really, but ... I just don't know. It's so much more jumbled than that."

He took a deep breath, wondering what he could possibly tell her to make her feel better without utterly overwhelming her.

"Listen, Hermione. I have some bad points. I have a horrible temper. I don't always think enough before I say or do something. And you aren't exactly the most even-tempered of the three of us, either. Not that it's a bad thing, but we did row a lo—well, we rowed from time to time. We always worked it out, though."

"Okay," she said, a bit uncertainly. 

He couldn't stand to see her that way. Before he thought too much about it, he reached forward and grabbed her hand, holding it between both of his. He inched toward her, needing her to understand that she wasn't merely a brain that he and Harry had pretended to be friends with to get through their lessons.

"We were really friends, Hermione. I promise."

The door burst open behind Ron and the sudden noise caused him to drop Hermione's hand and push away from her. She looked hurt for a moment, but then her eyes widened as she looked over Ron's shoulder. Ron twisted around to see who it was and found an extremely angry-looking Remus Lupin.

"I don't know why I thought this would help," Lupin fumed. "I couldn't have been more wrong. There was just so much pressure to hear from the three of you."

Harry sat forward in his bed at the sudden influx of noise, rubbing his eyes sleepily as he tried to wake himself up. Ron removed the _Muffliato_ quickly before Hermione said anything and made Lupin wonder why he couldn't hear them.

"What's happened?" Harry asked, yawning as he fought the effects of the sleeping potion.

"I should have listened to you, Ron," Lupin said, his voice raising even more. "She may still be fired from the _Prophet_ but that ... woman has sold her story to a smaller publication. Not so small now, though. It's only been out a few hours and everyone seems to have heard of the article."

"Skeeter," Ron said, finally understanding a bit of Lupin's raving. It had to be Rita Skeeter.

"We should have barred her. We should have demanded to see the stories before they were printed. Something, anything, I don't know," Lupin said, his anger making Ron's stomach flip.

"What story?" Hermione said, zeroing in on the important bits of what Lupin had said. Ron had been too unnerved at Lupin's uncharacteristic anger, but leave it to Hermione to get right to the most practical question.

"This one," Lupin said, brandishing a small roll of parchment. 

Ron couldn't wait any longer, so he pulled himself to his feet and took the paper from Lupin. His eyes widened as he saw the picture printed there and read what was laid out on the page next to it. The image showed Hermione and himself, caught in the moment when she'd lost her balance. He hadn't realized how he'd been the only thing holding her up, if only for a moment, before she regained her balance. Over and over, he watched the photograph as she stumbled and he caught her by her arm. He had a sick feeling that he already knew what was in the article before he'd even read the headline.

_Conspiracy Surrounding Hogwarts Heroes_

_A brief, uninformative ceremony was held in secrecy today at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Our Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, presented the Order of Merlin, First Class, to the three brave, young people who recently saved us all from You-Know-Who._

_It was obvious from the start, writes Rita Skeeter, Freelance News Correspondent, that the entire ceremony was a cover-up for something far more sinister. One simply has to ask why these young people, healthy enough (at first glance) to appear before the press and receive their tokens of gratitude, are being held in virtual seclusion, quite possibly against their will. Inquiries made to the members of the Weasley family have been uniformly rebuffed, and access to the Muggle family of Hermione Granger has been similarly restricted._

_Your reporter was fortunate enough to contract the assistance of a remarkable photographer who was able to capture the moment you see here of young Hermione Granger, clearly unable to even walk without assistance. Only Harry Potter spoke during their brief appearance, his poor, pale countenance hardly a sign of his own good health. They were quickly escorted away at the mere suggestion that the three of them entertain open questions from the press, the representatives of the wider wizarding world. One is forced to ask what the Ministry and St. Mungo's are trying to hide in shielding these young adults from even the most basic of questions._

_Surely, if these three of our bravest are in a more delicate state than has previously been reported through official channels, it is the right of the public to know. Death Eaters still walk among us, at the Ministry's own admission, and the three people they fear most are clearly infirm and unable to aid in the hunt and capture of these dangerous criminals._

_Is a new You-Know-Who rising to power in the absence of those the Dark wizards most fear? And who will stop them if Harry Potter loses his tragic struggle to regain his health?_

"Bloody Hell," Ron whispered, clutching the parchment in his hands and longing to tear it up in his anger.

"Let me see it," Harry demanded. Ron passed it over to Harry as he ground his teeth together in an attempt to hold back anything he had to say until after Harry had a chance to read it as well. Harry's eyes widened as they flew over each line, finally shutting in frustration when he reached the end.

Ron took the parchment back and hesitated before giving it to Hermione, who was already holding her hand out and looking adamant. He wished he could keep her from reading it, but he knew it wasn't fair to withhold it from her. He was already hiding enough from her as it was.

Her reaction was similar to Harry's, only her shoulders slumped over further and further until she simply dropped the parchment into her lap and bent over it with her forehead in her hands.

"Hermione," Lupin began, looking concerned. "None of this is—"

"Don't tell me it's not my fault, because it quite clearly is," she said, her voice raising as she looked up. Tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes, though she was clearly trying to hold them back. " _I_ was the one who stumbled. She wouldn't have been able to write this rubbish if she hadn't had a picture to—"

"But I pushed you," Ron said, quickly trying to take the blame. "I didn't mean to," he added quickly, seeing Lupin's look of surprise. "I thought I was just nudging you toward the door, but I was clumsy about it. I didn't think. It's my fault."

"Don't be daft. I was already weak and dizzy. You were the only thing holding me up for most of that ceremony, and you know it," Hermione retorted, the tears beginning to roll down her face.

"Hermione, it's no one's fault," Lupin said, his voice and expression calm again. "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. The conference was a bad idea from the start. We should have given you all more time."

"No, you said they'd find a way to sneak in. You said they were already speculating and causing trouble. We had to do it," Hermione spat. "If someone had found their way in here, just think of what we might have said or done, if we were unprepared. Or if we didn't know that they were ..." Hermione got a dreamy look on her face, the same one she always wore when she had a brain wave about something.

"Hermione?" Ron said, sitting back at the foot of her bed and watching her.

"Why would she risk it?" Hermione asked aloud, although she appeared to be asking herself. "Did she think we wouldn't tell?"

"Tell what?" Lupin asked, looking confused.

Ron held his breath and waited. He wanted to blurt out the answer, but he was afraid he was wrong, that Hermione wasn't about to say the thing he was hoping she was about to say.

"That ... cow ... is an unregistered Animagus, that's what!" Hermione roared, her tears abruptly coming to an end.


	24. Chapter 24

"She's what?" Lupin said, looking completely gobsmacked.

"She's—I—how did I know..." Hermione stammered, her hand flying to her mouth. "But she is, isn't she?" she asked, looking to Ron.

"Yes," Ron confirmed, trying to keep himself from drawing Hermione into his arms to celebrate with an encore of the kiss they'd shared just before they'd done the spell.

"I'm not sure I understand," Lupin said, sitting heavily in the chair near Ron's bed.

"I don't either," Harry said, looking just as confused.

"She caused quite a bit of trouble with some nasty articles during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry," Ron said, watching Hermione's puzzled expression as he explained. "She got that information because she can transform into a beetle. And she wasn't registered with the Ministry." Ron turned to Lupin. "You've known a few unregistered Animagi in your time. You must know the sort of chance she's taking."

"Are you absolutely certain?" Lupin asked.

Ron thought back to seeing Rita in her Animagus form in that jar of Hermione's back in their fourth year.

"Positive."

"Perhaps I'll just have a bit of a word with our favorite reporter then," Lupin said, looking much more hopeful than when he'd come in.

"What good will it do?" Hermione asked. "The article's already been published. The damage has been done." Ron could see she was still blaming herself for giving Rita Skeeter ammunition to use in her article.

"Well, we can stop her from selling follow-up articles, for a start," Lupin said, standing and beginning to pace. "And we may be able to get a retraction as well. That would help quite a lot."

"Wait. She wrote the article knowing the trouble we could get her in. She must have some reason not to worry about us turning her in," Ron said.

"I'll find that out when I see her, won't I?" Lupin said. "It's all we've really got, so I may as well give it a try."

"What if she's registered?" Ron asked. "Then she'd have no reason to be afraid, would she?"

"If she thinks that's the case, she's dead wrong," Lupin said, pacing faster now. "The three of you know she could transform _before_ she was registered. Mind you, it's your word against hers, but the word of three recipients of the Order of Merlin against one dodgy reporter, well ..." Lupin trailed off.

"Hey, and Scrimgeour can't be altogether chuffed at the article, now, can he? He wants all this to stay a secret as much as we do. He'll make sure they throw the book at her!" Ron said excitedly.

"Ah, good point, Ron," Lupin said. "I'm sure that's the last bit of leverage I'll need to persuade her. I'll just be off to see her now. No point in wasting time."

"Why don't you take this rubbish with you?" Ron asked, taking the article from Hermione and brandishing it toward Lupin.

"I'll do better than that," Lupin replied, taking out his wand. " _Evanesco_ ," he whispered, and with a small _pop_ , the roll of parchment was gone.

Lupin left them and Ron turned to Hermione, grinning like a prat.

"You remembered something," he breathed.

"I know. One moment, I didn't know anything about her. The next, I could see it. It was so clear. I had her in a jar, didn't I?" Hermione said, looking shocked. Ron laughed, perhaps the first truly joyous reaction he'd had to anything since Lupin had awoken him after the spell.

"You did, but don't look so unhappy about it. She deserved it. No question about it." Hermione didn't look convinced. "Come on, let's not dwell on it. I haven't finished reading about experimental charms yet. I know you're probably pages ahead of me, but perhaps we can get Harry started as well."

"Started on what?" Harry asked, still looking confused at the outcome of Lupin's surprise visit.

"Oi, mate. Get that Charms textbook from your bedside table. You may have saved the world, but you have some tests to pass if you want to finish school," Ron said, climbing back onto the foot of Hermione's bed and grabbing his book.

Harry opened his book and the note from Flitwick fell out and fluttered into his lap. Before Harry could pick it up to read it, Hermione had already told him what it was and which page he should start on. Ron was overcome with such a feeling of familiarity that he grinned stupidly at her instead of starting to read his book again.

"What?" she demanded, though she seemed more confused than angry.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Let's get started." He felt more comfortable now being near her and he stretched more fully out along the foot of her bed, lying on his side and resting his head in the palm of his hand as he tried to read. He knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate, but he felt he should do the best he could so that Hermione would be able to read in peace.

The three of them continued to read and the sound of shuffling pages and the occasional cleared throat were the only things that filled the room. Hermione finished the section on experimental charms long before Ron or Harry and moved on to the next passage. Ron eventually found a way to struggle through the last few paragraphs and realized he'd have to ask Hermione what page the next bit started on, as he'd left his note from Flitwick on his bedside table.

"Hermione," he began in a quiet voice, trying not to disturb Harry. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry had chosen to be disturbed anyway, his head popping up and looking at the two of them with a measure more interest than he'd given his Charms book.

"Yes," she said, a bit distractedly, obviously engrossed in what she was reading.

"I'm really sorry, but could you hand me your note from Flitwick? I've left mine over there, you see ..." he trailed off, pointing weakly in the direction of his bedside table.

"What? Oh. Certainly," Hermione said, picking up her note. "The next section begins on page 46. He's marked it as one we should spend extra time on. so it should be quite important."

If they hadn't been lying on a hospital bed, Ron would have sworn there wasn't a thing wrong with Hermione. If he let himself block out the unpleasant truth of her memory loss, everything seemed completely normal. He wished it could be that simple, that her sudden recollections of Rita Skeeter were more than just a few isolated flashes.

"Are you all right?" she asked, and he realized he'd just been sitting there staring at her.

"Yes," he said, feeling his face get hot. "I was just thinking over what I've read," he lied, trying to cover.

Hermione leaned forward and turned the pages in his book for him, her fingers rapidly finding the right chapter. "There you are. I'll just leave this here, shall I?" She put Flitwick's note between them, but not before she patted Ron's hand where he rested it near the top of the page he was supposed to be reading next.

"Thanks," he stammered, feeling ridiculous for feeling so affected by the brief sensation of her skin on his.

Harry soon finished the first section, then announced he still felt as though he was fighting off the sleeping potion. He waved his wand and closed his bed curtains, leaving Ron and Hermione effectively alone in the room. Ron wondered if Harry was really that tired or if he was merely returning the favor from earlier in the day, when Ron had found a way to arrange some time alone between Harry and Ginny.

"Have you gotten to the part about persistent charms yet?" Hermione asked, ending Ron's speculation about Harry and his possible motives.

"Have I what? Oh, persistent charms," Ron stalled, wondering if that was part of what his eyes had skimmed over already. "I think I'll have to read that section again before it really sinks in," he said, hoping Hermione wouldn't question him further.

"I thought perhaps we could ask for something we could practice on. There's a charm here you can use on some sort of container that will keep anything you put inside cold. We'll have to try it ourselves if we want to master it, won't we?"

"We'll ask," he said, suddenly flashing on the practice sessions they'd all taken part in leading up to the final task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament or during D.A. meetings.

Silence fell again as they both went back to reading and time ticked by. Ron successfully fought the urge to look up until he realized Hermione had just yawned behind her hand.

"You should get some more rest," he said, sitting up and shutting his textbook.

"No, no. I'm fine," she protested. "There's so much to do."

"And they'll give us all the time we need. If we miss our exams, I'm sure they'll work something out for us. It's more important for you to get your strength back, yeah?"

Hermione looked disappointed, but she relented by marking her book with the feather end of a quill and closing it.

"We'll read some more when you wake up, all right?" Ron promised, and Hermione looked a bit less put out. Ron got up and gestured to the bed curtains. "You should close these and change. It can't be comfortable to sleep in those clothes."

"All right," she agreed. "It really isn't very comfortable." She tried to lean over to open the lower drawer of her bedside table, but Ron saw her grimace and pull back a little before she tried a second time.

"I'll get that," he said, stopping her by resting his hand on her arm before he opened the drawer and pulled out a sky blue pair of pajamas. He tried very hard not to notice the other things in the drawer, but caught sight of some scraps of white lace. His throat went rather dry after that. When he looked back to Hermione, she was blushing.

"You didn't have to—"

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "I didn't really look, I swear," he added, hoping it would make her feel better. He tried to act as though the other items in her drawer hadn't even registered with him. She was uncomfortable enough around two virtual strangers without thinking that one of them was trying to manufacture reasons to go through her underthings.

"Oh," she said, a look on her face that Ron couldn't quite place, but she quickly replaced it with a rather non-committal smile. "It's fine, really. I appreciate the help."

"I'll give you your privacy then," he said, stepping back and taking a fistful of her bed curtains. "Just yell when you want to read again."

"Certainly," she said, in a worryingly formal tone.

He closed her in, wondering what had just happened. He'd found some way to either confuse or hurt her and he wasn't even sure what he'd done. Slow, befuddled steps took him back to his own bed, the Charms textbook heavy in his hand. Aldwyn bustled in just as he sat, trying to understand what he'd done.

"Doing some revising?" Aldwyn asked. "I'm glad they've given you something to do. I was beginning to worry about your sanity, staring at these walls day after day with nothing to do."

"What?" Ron said.

"Your book? Revising? Or are you just using it as a paperweight?" Aldwyn teased him. It made Ron a little sad, as that last bit sounded like something Hermione might have said to him if she was feeling more herself.

"Yeah, we were. Harry and Hermione got tired though, so we're taking a bit of a break. If you've come with potions, it looks like I'm the only one who needs one."

"No, you don't need one. You're doing much better now, if you hadn't noticed."

"I ... I s'pose so." Again, none of it seemed fair to Ron. He'd come through the spell in the best condition of the three of them, and he was the one who deserved it the least.

"If you wanted to leave, in fact, you might be able to make a case for it. It would be a difficult fight, and you'd likely have some new Auror haunting about behind you wherever you went, but perhaps you'd do better back at home."

"No," Ron said, panicking a bit. "I really should be here with Harry and Hermione. They're not about to kick me out, are they?"

"Not at all. In fact, the Ministry, not to mention your parents, are probably much happier to have you here, where you're nearly as safe as you'd be if you were at Hogwarts."

"Safe from everyone but Rita Skeeter," Ron said, a bit under his breath.

"Ah, that. I read that scrap of rubbish as well. It may stir things up in the near term, but something tells me that it will blow over. I don't think the Ministry or your friend Mr. Lupin will allow it to cause any problems for the three of you."

"Right," Ron said, not even caring at the moment about the danger they might be in as a result of Skeeter's article.

"Are you all right?" Aldwyn asked, and Ron looked up to find her in a rare moment of standing still.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered, trying to sound convincing.

"Don't make me read your mind again," she teased. "If you don't want to talk about it, just say so, but don't think I'm so daft that I'd believe that rubbish about you being fine when you look as though someone's just snapped your wand in half."

"That happened to me once, you know," he said, a little distractedly. "Went through a whole year of school with a wand held together with Spellotape."

"Don't change the subject."

Ron was on the verge of telling her he didn't want to talk about it, and had opened his mouth to do just that. He just couldn't go through with it. He'd been holding back so much that this opportunity to let some of it out was utterly irresistible.

"I'm making a mess of things. It's my fault Harry and Hermione are in the shape they're in, and I don't know what to do to make it better. I completely botched the spell, Aldwyn. Hermione had to take my share of it near the end," he confessed, feeling horrible as he heard the words out loud.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Aldwyn said, looking befuddled. Ron explained to her what had happened, how he'd heard Hermione cry out and the way he'd reacted.

"I just couldn't leave her there alone, but look what it's done," he said miserably.

"Wait just a moment. The way the spell was explained to me before they put me in charge of your care, the memory loss was always a distinct possibility. How do you know that what you did had anything to do with the outcome?"

"I'm the only one who fought it, and I'm the only one with my memory intact. That doesn't strike me as a coincidence."

"There's no way to tell that it's _not_ just a coincidence," Aldwyn said, patting his hand in a reassuring way. "I've worked in the Spell Damage ward for more than twice as long as you've been alive, young man. You should listen to me. Don't jump to conclusions. This probably would have happened regardless of your actions. Spells affect people in different ways."

Ron shook his head, not allowing himself to believe what Aldwyn was telling him. It was too easy to let himself off the hook that way. If it was his fault, he deserved to feel guilty about it and he didn't want to give himself a way out.

"That's not all that's bothering you," Aldwyn said, apparently sensing that she wasn't likely to change his mind about the current topic.

"I just don't know what to do," Ron said, feeling hopeless. "I'm trying to help them. Sometimes it seems to work, but sometimes I think I'm only making things worse."

"You sound like me, when I was fresh out of school during my first year at St. Mungo's. Recovery is an odd thing. Sometimes you have to move backward to move forwards."

"Thanks, Aldwyn. That makes me feel loads better," he said, feeling guilty about what he'd said as soon as he said it. To his relief, she just laughed.

"It was rubbish advice, wasn't it? The worst advice is the kind you don't want to hear, even if it is the truth."

"I just wish I knew what to do."

"Just stay here. Talk to them. Being around familiar people, especially you ... that's what will help them the most. That's why I've been exaggerating your condition to the Healers so that it's easier to keep you here."

"You ... you're covering for me?"

"You're my patient. That's my first priority. You, your safety, and the recovery of my other patients. Keeping you here is what's best for all three. My only regret is that I didn't give you the choice to make for yourself until now."

"No, I appreciate it. If this is where Harry and Hermione are, this is where I should be as well. Even if I am a complete loss at helping Hermione."

"Well, that's not true. I think you're helping both of them."

"I'm too much of a coward to help Hermione," he confessed. "I have a letter she wrote to herself before the spell, and two more that Harry and I wrote to her. I haven't been able to give them to her. I gave Harry all three of his, but I still have Hermione's."

Ron was expecting an immediate reaction. Instead, when he chanced a look at Aldwyn, she was giving him that smile that made him sure she could see straight through him.

"So, there's something in those letters you're either hiding or protecting her from." Ron nodded. "Is it that you love her?" Aldwyn asked, causing Ron's heart to race at the mere thought that it was that easy to figure out. "Did you write that to her? Did Harry? Do you think she wrote something like that to herself?"

He wanted to deny it. Possibly the fastest reflex he possessed was the one that allowed him to keep his feelings for Hermione to himself.

"You don't have to answer that. I'm just being a nosy old cow." Her eyes were sparkling at him and he knew it didn't matter what he said. She knew the truth and there was nothing he could say to convince her otherwise.

"Merlin, Aldwyn. Is there anything about me you _don't_ know? I told you, I'm a coward."

"So that's why you haven't given the letters to her. Do you think you're protecting her from it, or hiding it from her?"

"Protecting her," he protested, but Aldwyn looked unconvinced. "It's too much. You saw when she first woke up. How do you think she would have reacted if she'd known one of the strangers in the room with her had been pining over her for years?" He couldn't believe how pathetic he sounded. This was precisely why he'd never spoken about this before, at least until Harry had begun to goad him about it just before they'd done the spell.

"Are you sure?" Aldwyn asked, and Ron fought the urge to clap his hands over his ears and pretend he hadn't heard, just as he used to do to his mother when he was little.

"No," he admitted, after a long silence. "Blimey, I've got to give them to her, don't I?"

"That, my young charge," she patted his hand again, "is up to you. You have to choose, but you don't have to do it alone. You can ask her what she wants without telling her exactly what you think might be too much for her to take."

"I know her, Aldwyn. If she knows those letters exist, she'll want them."

"But you know about them and she doesn't. That means you have to decide to tell her about them or not. You should just make sure you're being honest with yourself about why you make your decision."

"I'm being a git, aren't I?"

"You're being eighteen," she said, squeezing his hand before she took hers away. "You need some time to think. I'll leave you to it."

She stood, smoothing out her green robes and starting toward the door.

"Aldwyn?" he called, stopping her. "Thanks." She left without a word.

The wait for Hermione to wake up was the longest of his life. It seemed longer than the night before they'd done the spell, longer than when he'd waited by her bedside in their second year when she was Petrified, and longer than any of the periods they'd gone without speaking due to one row or another. 

He was lying back against his pillows with three scrolls of parchment on his chest. He'd nearly read them a hundred times, telling himself his decision would be made easier if he only knew exactly what they said. He wished he had a more noble reason for not doing so, but he knew what he had written to her. After reading that, it honestly didn't matter what was in the other two. She would know how he felt and the damage would be done.

He had just begun to levitate them, thinking of Hermione and a long-ago lesson where she'd unceremoniously told him off, as he whispered, " _Wingardium Leviosa_." He concentrated on keeping all three aloft at the same time, hoping it would take his mind off his impending doom.

All three fell back to his chest as soon as he heard the scrape of Hermione's bed curtains opening. It seemed as though it was happening in slow motion, each centimeter the metal rings moved along the rod to reveal her. His heart was beating so fast he honestly thought he might die right there.

How ironic that being friends with Harry Potter hadn't managed to kill him, but being in love with Hermione Granger would be what got the job done.

He gathered the three rolls of parchment and got up, suddenly knowing that if he didn't do this now, he'd never be able to look at himself in a mirror again.

"I just need a moment or two," Hermione said, already reaching for her Charms textbook. "But we really should get back to—what do you have there?" she asked, narrowing her gaze at the scrolls Ron was carrying toward her.

"I have to talk to you about something," Ron said, after taking a deep breath. "And then I have to ask you something. It'll be up to you, but I just need you to listen to me first."

"Of course," she said, looking confused, but she sat up and started attentively at him. "Would you like to sit?"

"No, I think I'd like to pace a bit," he said, knowing he needed something to do with his nervous energy.

"Are you quite all right?" she asked, beginning to look concerned. He had the most insane desire to laugh uncontrollably.

"No," he said, suddenly knowing the only way he would make it through was if he was completely honest with her. "I think I might be sick."

"Well, you should rest," she said, looking even more concerned. "Or call for help. What is—"

"Hermione," he said, stopping her mid-sentence. "I'm not that sort of sick. I have to tell you something and you may not like it very much. You may be rather angry with me."

"Ron, I—"

"Really, you should save your strength until I'm done." Hermione's mouth closed, and she looked more confused than ever. "Do you know that we knew the memory loss was a good possibility, before we did the spell? I don't know if anyone's told you."

"Yes. I don't know when I—" she broke off when Ron began to pace in earnest.

"So, we knew we might not remember anything. You came up with the idea for all of us to write letters. To ourselves, to each other, so we wouldn't lose it all. There are magical ways to protect some memories, but nothing on the scale of what we were trying to do. We didn't have much time, but it was enough to do this," he said, nodding toward the scrolls nestled in his arms. "These are yours. Ginny was keeping them at first, but now I've got them."

"Why—no, I want you to finish. Go on."

"It wasn't an issue at first. Harry was awake before you were. I couldn't very well give you the letters when you weren't even able to read them. Then, when you did wake up, you were so scared. Scared of Harry, of me. I couldn't very well look at you and think that was the right time to give them to you. I was afraid it would be too much for you."

Hermione looked hurt and it made his breath catch in his throat. He knew that expression well and it nearly always led to a row or him being hexed to within an inch of his life.

"Listen, I was probably wrong. I'm not perfect, Hermione. I haven't known what to do since I woke up after the spell. I've wished over and over that it had been you to keep your memories. You're brilliant; you would have known what to do."

"I don't know about that."

"You don't know about anything, and it's my fault. I'm admitting it, Hermione. It seemed like the right choice at the time, but it probably wasn't."

"Are you giving those to me now?"

"It is up to you, but there's something else I need to tell you first." It took another deep breath before he was able to go on. There was some part of him that was still standing back, unable to believe any of this was really happening. "I have an idea what Harry's written to you, and I know what I wrote. There are things in there that ..." he stopped, wondering how he could possibly explain. "Once you read those things, Hermione, there's no going back. I don't know what's in the letter you wrote to yourself. I imagine it's a lot of useful stuff, but there could be things in there that upset you as well. It could hurt you, it could make you uncomfortable. You might wish you'd never read any of it. That's why I couldn't decide what to do."

"We aren't really friends, are we?" Hermione said, her voice dull and lifeless. She slumped back against her pillows, looking as though she'd lost all her energy.

"What? No! I mean, yes, we were friends."

"Then why do I feel so odd when I look at you, when I don't feel that way around Harry? And you said we rowed all the time. Were the three of us together just because we were both friends with Harry?"

"No, Hermione. That isn't it at all. I meant what I told you yesterday. We were friends. I think you might be the most important person—" He automatically stopped, an old reaction to protect himself. "You need to read these. If you think we were both just Harry's mates, you need to read these."

He handed the parchments to her before he could stop himself, feeling light-headed once he saw them in her hands.

"I—but you—I just don't—" she stammered, looking a little shocked to suddenly be holding the items he'd been so zealously protecting a moment ago.

"I need you to remember something. Don't feel trapped by anything you read. I know how hard it is for both of you to be around me, knowing that I remember everything you don't. The most important thing is for you to get better. Everything else can wait. Everything. Will you remember that for me?"

"Yes," she said, quietly.

"One more thing. I understand if you hate me for keeping these from you. I know it was daft, but I only did what I did because I thought, at the time, it was the right thing to do. Just wait until after you've read all three to make up your mind. I think you'll know why I made the decision I did when you're done."

"All right," she agreed, still looking quietly shocked.

"I'm going back to my bed, and I'll give you as much privacy as I can. When you're done, if you want me gone, I can probably get myself discharged and finish recovering at home. It's up to you. I mean that, Hermione."

He turned before she could say anything more and climbed onto his bed, slashing his wand toward his bed curtains to charm them shut. He'd never wished more for a sleeping potion before in his life.


	25. Chapter 25

_ Letters Interlude #2 _

Ron,

Honestly, I've started this letter four times now. I can't imagine why I'm finding it so difficult. I've known you and Harry longer than anyone, other than my mum and dad of course. I shouldn't have trouble telling either of you anything. Should I?

Perhaps that's just the problem. Sometimes we have trouble talking, you and I. At times, we don't seem to agree. We can both be rather stubborn as well, I'm afraid. That's added up to some rather nasty rows. Not a single one of them have ever made me wish we'd never been friends. Oh, I've been angry. I've sworn never to speak to you again on several occasions, and so, I suspect, have you sworn to do to me as well.

We always come back. Not for Harry, but because we're meant to.

You see, as different as we are, we want some of the same things. We want Harry to be safe and we want Voldemort defeated. If you're reading this, hopefully that means both of those have come to pass.

But there are other things. Smaller things, but just as important in their own way. Did you know that you have personally invited me to every snowball fight I've ever attended? And while I may sigh and roll my eyes when you come to me at the last moment for help with an essay, I secretly enjoy that you seem to need me. Those essays have always been better than you thought they were, by the way. They'd be even better if you applied yourself just a bit more, but now I'm straying from what I meant to tell you in this letter.

There are only so many reasons one person could infuriate another the way we are both capable of doing to each other. At least, I hope that's true. I know what I think but I can only wonder what you think of it.

I have feelings for you that go beyond being your friend. (You've no idea how difficult that was for me to write.) I don't really know if you feel the same. I've been sure at times that you do, and equally sure at other times that you don't. When I'm particularly cross or ill-tempered, I've convinced myself that you and Harry only keep me around as some sort of talking book to help you get through your lessons. I don't honestly believe that, but in some ways, that's easier to contemplate than the notion that I could say just a few words to you and change things between us forever, without knowing if it would be for the better or for the worse.

I know we both love Harry, that we'd do anything for him. My greatest secret, however, is that I love you as well, and not at all in the same way. I don't know what our future holds or even if we'll all be alive to read these letters when it's all over. I hope I'll be able to look at you and just know what you mean to me, even without any memory of fighting side by side or rowing or sitting quietly together, munching on toast in the Great Hall. 

You don't have to do a thing if it's not what you want or if things are so different after we've completed the spell that none of this has any meaning for you. I just can't face this without knowing I've told you, that everything I've felt didn't just disappear along with the rest of my memories.

With love from,

_Hermione_

Hermione,

You, Ron, and I have been friends for so long that I can't imagine what I can write to tell either of you about who we are. I could never have made it to where we are, as I write this, without your help. I don't know exactly how you'll write this to yourself, but you are honestly quite brilliant. I'm not the only one who thinks so. It's so much of who you are that I think you should know that. You've always been the one I can count on for an answer when I needed one, but that's not the reason I'm your friend.

I could never begin to thank you or make you understand what it means to have a friend like you, and I can't even imagine how I would start. Writing this letter seemed so difficult when I was trying to do just that. That's why I decided to tell you something else entirely. I wish I'd done this long ago. It's long overdue.

You love Ron Weasley. You have for quite some time, in fact. I believe you are quite well aware of this, and I hope you've included it in your letter to yourself.

I can hear you now. "Harry, why would you tell me something you believe I've already written about?"

The second and final gift I have for you is another bit of information. As hard as it is for me to believe, you haven't managed to suss it out on your own, though you are easily the most brilliant witch I've ever met.

Ron Weasley loves you back. Don't read something about him in your letter and assume I'm mad for suggesting it. He'd murder me himself if he knew I'd just written this to you, especially as I plan to deny it if he asks.

If this got lost somehow, I'd never be able to forgive myself. I don't honestly believe either of you will ever be content without the other, memories or not.

While we may have to start over, nothing makes me happier than the thought of being friends with the two of you without having to worry that I'll get you killed. 

I hope what I've just given you is worth the chance you've taken by being my friend and staying by my side through this.

Your friend,

_Harry_

Hermione,

There's a few things you need to know that I'm afraid you won't tell yourself. Normally I'd say no one knows as much as you, but these things are different.

Harry's a brilliant friend, but he can be a grumpy git sometimes. I hope he won't need to do that after we finish with Voldemort, but somehow I think he'll always be a little bit that way. He still needs us, even if he can be a bit stubborn about it.

He's in love with my sister, by the way. I'm pretty sure you'll write about that, but I think the more I write about it, the happier I'll be able to be about it. I may need you to remind me that Ginny would end up with someone, and isn't it better that it's a mate of mine so I can still keep an eye on her? You're quite good at keeping me from being a complete git about things, but I have to admit, sometimes it just can't be helped. Especially when, well, that's another story altogether.

Part of you likes it when we interrupt you, or when we talk you into something you protest is a complete waste of time. Maybe no one else can see it, but I always catch something in your eyes that gives you away.

I know how you like your eggs. I don't think you know that. I know which pieces of bacon you're likely to choose from the serving plate. I know you only fill your glass just under three-quarters full, but I've never been sure why. I wish now that I'd asked you.

We row a lot. We both seem to make the other lose their temper. You drive me mad, and I'm sure I do the same to you. I wouldn't have it any other way. Not that it hasn't caused its share of problems.

Even when I acted as though I didn't care that you were angry with me or that I was angry with you, I always, always did. We're quite good at being angry with each other, though that's something I'd like to stop practicing once all this is over. Ginny told me we're both too stubborn for our own goods, and when I was done being upset with her for saying it, I realized she's right.

Oh, and before I forget. I fancy you, Hermione. I think I may just fancy you for the rest of our lives. I don't intend to forget that. It's in my letter. Unless you say something, I think you're stuck with me. If you don't feel the same way, I hope you can find some way to overlook it. If you choose some other bloke instead of me, I'll try to be nice to him.

But I can't promise anything.

_Ron_

_An Excerpt from Hermione Granger’s Letter To Herself_

And then I come to Ron. I've left him for last for a reason. Knowing it's time to write about him makes me wish I had more parchment.

Yes, we've had some horrible falling outs. I used to think this meant we perhaps shouldn't really be friends. I think I was both wrong and right about that.

I'm not the easiest person to get along with, for a start. I can be rigid and single-minded. So can Ron, infuriatingly so. Sometimes it's not a good combination, but it's for a very specific reason.

Oh, yes. He'll drives you mad. I think he always will. He can be stubborn and pig-headed and sometimes I can't understand at all what is going on in his head.

I'm equally sure he could quite honestly describe me the same way.

But why _are_ we friends, then? How can two people with so many problems communicating possibly succeed in any friendship? Why fight through all the conflict to stay in each other's lives?

Yes, he can be a terrible, irresponsible, insensitive prat, but he's also wonderful and loyal. Sweet, and adorably, precisely what I need, precisely when I need it. I can't imagine losing him forever just because I don't remember my past. I can't lose him.

I've known how I feel about him for so long. It goes long past fancying him. I know now that I love him. I've tried to block it out, forget it. I tried to subtly change things with sly, non-committal invitations to parties. I've imagined there was some magical way it would change without taking the frightening leap of faith which is, in fact, the only way to resolve things.

That is the reason the two of you cannot really talk to each other. This one issue stands between us and is bigger than the subject of any row. I've spent years talking around it, trying to negotiate through it. It is so large that I cannot think logically where he's concerned. I don't know if he also finds this obstacle in his own way or if he is merely trying to be my friend through my own barriers.

I've tried being patient. I've tried being subtle. I've screamed at him, hinting that I was sure he was jealous, all the while hoping against hope that he truly was. I wish I was sure that he was, or sure that he wasn't, but I'm not. All I have is uncertainty. For every moment I've been sure he fancied me (because of course, that's what this is all about) there have been moments when it also seemed to be the furthest thing from the truth.

So I'll just have to try to remember, and then tell him. If he never felt the same, at least the barrier will be gone. Then I can, once and for all, find a way to have him in my life without the confusion and bitterness that leads to the rows and the hurt.


	26. Chapter 26

Ron was restless inside the confines of his bed curtains until he saw his letter from Hermione lying on top of his pillow, where he'd put it after separating it from the three he'd just given her. He fingered the parchment, trying to decide if it would help him or hurt him to read it while he waited for her to finish reading what he'd just given her.

He only debated for a moment before he tore the short piece of twine from the scroll and opened it, his eyes flying over Hermione's careful script. Very little of it actually penetrated through to his brain as he scanned it, not even knowing what he was looking for until his eyes fell on it.

_My greatest secret, however, is that I love you as well, and not at all in the same way._

His entire body reacted to each individual word as he read them again and again. The kiss hadn't been momentary insanity or done without thought or intention behind it. It had been for her exactly what it had been for him.

She loved him.

Before she'd lost everything, that was. Would she ever feel the same again?

_I'll wait until she does_ , he thought. _Wizards can live a long time. I can wait._

After several more attempts, he managed to read the rest of her letter, letting the full meaning of it sink in. How could she have ever wondered about his feelings for her? He'd thought, ever since that horrible night of the Yule Ball, that Hermione had completely sussed out how he felt about her. For the long years after that, her silence had forced him to believe that she couldn't really feel the same. If she had fancied him, and she knew that he fancied her, why hadn't she said anything? His brilliant, daring Hermione would never shy away from taking what she wanted if she thought it was the thing to do.

He'd never considered for a moment that she had somehow convinced herself that she'd been wrong. All that time, wasted, spent only on one kiss shared in that last stolen moment ... unless he managed to make her remember, or (though it was nearly unthinkable) somehow found a way to win her a second time.

"Ron?" a hesitant female voice filtered through his bed curtains, causing his heart to race until he realized it wasn't Hermione's. "Are you awake?"

Ron opened the curtains just enough to let his baby sister inside, closing them behind her. His mind was spinning with so many complex thoughts about Hermione that it took a full minute before he realized how unbelievably angry he was with Ginny.

"Honestly, those daft Aurors wouldn't let me in to see any of you all this time. I had to find Aldwyn and get her to talk to them." Her annoyance with the Aurors fell away from her features, replaced with a very uncharacteristically hesitant look. "I know that Harry told you where I was during the confrontation," she began, stumbling over her words a bit in a way he hadn't heard since her first year at Hogwarts.

Ron cast another _Muffliato_ spell before he took a breath to respond, then realized he had no idea what to say. Yes, he was livid that she'd rushed headlong toward Voldemort when absolutely no precautions had been taken to protect her. Harry, who had been destined for that confrontation, had only gone into it after they'd destroyed the Horcruxes and their shared power spell had been performed. Ginny, his tiny, baby sister, had simply picked up her wand and run after him without so much as one of Fred and George's Shield Hats.

"You're not yelling at me," she observed, still reflexively recoiling away from him.

"I can't decide where to start," Ron said, long past saying anything other than the first thing that came to mind. "Of all the daft, irresponsible, completely mad things—"

"—that saved the life of your best friend," Ginny finished for him. "Don't deny it," she warned, shaking a finger at him. "Harry said that you felt the moment that I distracted Voldemort and saved Harry."

"Kind of egotistical, aren't you?" Ron said, feeling a bit mean-spirited, but Ginny didn't even blink. "Harry saves the wizarding world and here you are, taking some of the credit."

"The three of you saved the wizarding world," Ginny corrected. "I saved Harry. When it was all over, after he'd finished Voldemort and helped capture or push back the rest of the Death Eaters, he made it to me just before he passed out. He told me I'd fulfilled the last bit of the prophecy—that love was Harry's power."

"That wasn't meant to be _your_ love for Harry. It was our love for Harry, mine and Hermione's."

"Aw, that's sweet," Ginny said sarcastically. "When are you and Harry making the announcement?"

"Don't be flippant, Ginny. You know what I mean. You didn't listen to anyone ... again. You'd think after the diary, you'd know you shouldn't go off half-cocked on every impulse you have."

"Oh, you're one to talk," Ginny yelled, the color raising in her cheeks. "You, who can't exercise even the smallest bit of self-restraint. Here you are, yelling at me for keeping Harry alive. Can't you just be grateful that I didn't listen to any of the three of you and took the place you'd never give to me on your own?"

"What are you talking about ... the place I'd never give you?"

"Not just you. All three of you. Even after Harry and I became, well, _Harry and I_ , I was still on the outside looking in. The moment things got difficult, it was back to being just the three of you, without poor little defenseless Ginny. You found the bloody Horcruxes without me. You destroyed them without me. You and Hermione shut yourselves off from me after you came back to school, and Harry just plain ignored that I was still on the planet. When it came to the end, you never questioned that the two people who should do the spell with Harry were you and Hermione. No one loves Harry more than I do. No one. Hermione and I could have done the spell and you could have gone with Harry to watch his back. You were too blind to even consider it, and you ignored me and stayed to yourselves. Not that I should have been surprised."

"It's been the three of us from the beginning," Ron roared, feeling some childish part of him wanting to have his own friends apart from his little sister as well as the need to protect her.

"But it wasn't in the end. In the end, I had to be there. It's not my fault that none of you wanted to see it. It's a good thing Harry told me the prophecy in one of those few moments of peace we had lying out by the lake when we were still together. I knew then that if it was love that would save Harry, the three of you would need me as well. It's a good job that I was smart enough to keep it to myself."

"You still shouldn't have—" Ron began, but stopped when he found no words of anger ready to throw back at her. "You're right," he said, meeting her eyes and watching as the fire there turned to shock.

"I'm what?"

"You're right. I'm glad you ignored us and saved Harry. I don't know how horrible things would be now if you hadn't. I'm just glad you're all right."

"You—I'm—did you just say—?" she stammered, making Ron laugh before he pulled her into a hug that it took several moments for his stunned sister to return. "You aren't going to hex or lecture me?" she said, her words a bit muffled as she spoke into his chest.

"Why don't we just agree to a truce?" Ron suggested, though he knew part of him would always wish he could protect her. Somehow, when he released her, he felt as though he'd had to let go every impulse he'd ever had to hide her away where she'd be safe.

"I—yes. Of course," she said, goggling at him before she began to giggle. "Can you do me a favor and talk to Harry? He's still a bit angry that I followed him even after I'd promised him I'd stay back."

"I'll see what I can do," Ron said, chuckling a little. "I think he'll have to get used to the idea on his own, though."

"He finally believes me," Ginny said, looking quite carefully at Ron. "I've told him every time that I see him that it doesn't matter to me that he doesn't have all his memories. I don't want to wait for us to be together ... not if he still has feelings for me."

"I'm happy for you, Gin. Really."

"Maybe you should take a page out of my book there. Don't make Harry's mistakes ... the way he pushed me away trying to be noble. If I'd listened to him, he'd be dead now. You should really talk to Hermione before either of you decides what to do about the fact that you'll both always be arse over teakettle in love with each other."

"Ginny," Ron said, a warning tone in his voice.

"Oh, get used to it, big brother. If you think I'm going to stand back and watch you throw everything away just because you don't want me to meddle, well, then you don't think I'm my mother's daughter. Tonks and Lupin wouldn't be together if Mum had let up on them, and I see no reason to take it easy on you and Hermione just because the two of you are in St. Mungo's. Neither of you know what's good for you. Someone's got to lead you to it. May as well be me."

"I gave her the letters, Ginny," Ron said, knowing it was the last thing his sister expected to hear.

"You did?" she said joyously. "Oh, that's wonderful! I hope she doesn't hex you too badly for holding them back from her, of course, but as soon as she sets that right, I'm sure she'll remember how she feels about you. Oh, Ron," she gushed, hugging him and apparently feeling a lot more confident of the eventual outcome than Ron did.

"I'm not going to rush her. She's still so fragile. She needs to take her time."

"Rubbish," Ginny decreed, waving her hand as she looked at Ron with a wide smile pulling at her lips. "You're both so bloody careful. Do me a favor, will you? When Hermione sits you down and tells you oh-so-rationally that the two of you need to take your time and get to know each other again, just grab her and pull her into a decent snog, yeah?"

"Ginny," Ron said, trying to sound stern but feeling himself wondering breathlessly if his sister was right.

"Listen, I'm going to go sit with Harry. I'll cast a charm on his bed curtains to give you some privacy until someone opens them."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm quite content to sit with Harry indefinitely, Ron. We have a lot of catching up to do once his potion wears off."

"Ugh, Ginny. I don't need to picture that. Just go, will you?"

Ginny just laughed softly in response, reaching up to ruffle Ron's hair before she left him to himself to ponder the advice she'd just given him.

Could he do it? Could he face Hermione after she'd read those letters, wait throughout the rational, "Let's wait and see how it goes" conversation, and then lean forward and kiss her? He didn't have long to contemplate it. Hermione read awfully fast and Ron could feel the time slipping past him.

He opened his curtains and stepped into the room, closer to Hermione's bed. Now that he knew Harry wouldn't interrupt them, he wanted to see the look on her face the moment she appeared from behind her bed curtains. He paced, taking a step with every other beat of his heart.

This was no good. The letter Hermione had written to herself was enormous. He'd be pacing here for hours. Days, maybe. Perhaps she'd read his letter and decide to never come out. Maybe she'd wait for Aldwyn to come, and Hermione would ask her to please tell Ron "Thank you, but no," and he'd never even get the chance to fix things.

Was that possible? Would she do that? He panicked, nearly deciding to cross the room and wrest open her curtains just to ensure he had at least one more chance to talk to her before she decided he was absolutely mad.

_But she loved you too_ , he reminded himself, willing his heart to slow and beginning his pacing again. If she was momentarily shocked by what she read in those letters, it would be just that—momentary. She'd bite her lower lip and think, but eventually she'd have to at least acknowledge that she'd once had feelings for him. She'd have to— _oh, Merlin_.

Her curtains were opening.

He had the most daft impulse to run. He wasn't sure if he should look at her or not. He couldn't look away, but he couldn't quite bear to see what was there on her face.

"Ron?" she said, her voice low. If he wasn't mistaken, it was shaking a bit as well. This was too much for her. He'd given them to her too soon. He had to apologize, tell her he could wait as long as she needed and accept any answer she gave him. If only he meant that, if he wasn't sure he'd like to throw himself off the roof if she didn't want to continue what they'd begun before the spell.

"Finished?" he asked stupidly, wishing he'd never opened his mouth. A wordless nod was her response and he tried madly to read her expression. "Listen, if you—"

"Wait," she said, taking a step toward him and causing his heart to stop. "Did you read my letter to you?"

"Yes. Just now," he said, white noise rushing through his ears.

"And did I tell you that I ... well, that I have ... that it appears that we both ..." she stammered, turning faintly pink as her eyes silently seemed to plead with him to put her out of her misery.

"Yes," he whispered, not daring to move any closer to her.

"Is it true?" she asked, blinking guilelessly at him.

_Is it true? Do I fancy you,_ love _you so completely that I can't swallow, can't move, can't feel anything other than that now that you're so innocently asking me if it's true?_

"Yes," he said again, wishing he had something better, something more deserving of her, to say.

"Ron, I—" Hermione began, cutting herself off when a sudden noise permeated the room. The door flew open, revealing a rather victorious-looking Remus Lupin. Ron contemplated the Cruciatus Curse, deciding against it when he remembered at the last moment that Lupin couldn't possibly know what he'd interrupted.

"It's been done!" Lupin cried as he brandished a new roll of parchment. "Where's Harry? His bed?" 

Ron nodded and Lupin strode over to Harry's bed, pulling the curtains open and breaking Ginny's charm. Despite the racing of his own mind and his unfinished business with Hermione, he smirked when Ginny and Harry sprung apart, apparently having been in mid-snog when Lupin chose to interrupt them.

"I've just returned from a rather interesting meeting with the Minister," Lupin began, unperturbed at the slightly embarrassed look on Harry's face and the positively murderous one on Ginny's. "He summoned our beloved Miss Skeeter there and she is in no small amount of trouble, I can tell you. She _has_ recently registered as an Animagus, but when we told her we had solid evidence that she could transform long before she'd done that, she went rather white. The Minister offered to overlook it if she was cooperative, not that she didn't try to squirm out of that. In the end she agreed to it all. She's written a retraction and it's already being delivered to every wizarding household in Britain!" Lupin raised his fist triumphantly, then looked a little deflated at the lack of a celebratory reaction from any of the other four occupants of the room. "Well?" he said, his eyes darting between them as he looked utterly puzzled.

"That's brilliant," Ron heard himself say, rather unconvincingly. He looked at Hermione who merely blinked back at him, a rather lost and confused expression on her face.

A surge of courage gripped him, one fully worthy of the house the Sorting Hat had put him in. _Do it_ , something whispered to him, and for once in his life, Ron Weasley didn't pessimistically second-guess himself and stay the impulse that was making his entire body thrum with anticipation.

Four steps carried him over to Hermione.

One movement of his arms gathered her closer to him.

One moment allowed him to search her eyes and find the last thing he needed before he continued.

A final duck of his head brought their lips together again.

He distantly heard Lupin's shocked gasp and his sister's squeal of joy, but he blocked them out and concentrated on pouring everything he felt into their kiss. Hermione seemed surprised for a moment, but to his eternal relief, she began almost immediately to kiss him back. She raised her arms and her hands splayed on his back, allowing him to pull her even closer and cup the back of her head with one of his large hands. Her hair tangled in his fingers, feeling just as he'd always known it would.

He pulled away from her moments later only because he was still aware that they were not alone and he realized he didn't want to share this moment with anyone other than this brilliant, infuriating, amazing, exasperating woman that he loved. Her eyes blinked widely at him, though she didn't pull out of his embrace or seem angry at the liberty he'd taken with her.

"I—well—I'll just leave this, then," Lupin said, awkwardly dropping the parchment he'd been so overjoyed to bring to them just moments before onto the tray at the foot of Harry's bed. "I'll just go and visit Tonks," he added, disappearing from the room more quickly than if he'd Disapparated.

"Right," Ginny said with a nod, winking at Ron as she pointed her wand at Harry's bed covers, whispering a spell that pulled them closed with an invisible tug. Ron caught a glimpse of Harry's completely gobsmacked expression before he disappeared. He tried unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh, finding himself surprised when Hermione joined in a moment later.

"I didn't mean to—" Ron began, cutting himself off as Hermione continued to laugh. "I thought you'd murder me for that. I just couldn't help myself," he continued quickly, listening to the way his words ran together in his haste. "If you want to take your time, really think about things, wait for your recovery to come along a bit more before we even think about—"

Hermione had interrupted him many times since they were eleven. Ron was sometimes angry when it happened, or frustrated, or even indifferent. Of all the times Hermione had interrupted him, however, this time, as she grabbed his head and dragged it down to hers for another kiss, was his favorite.


	27. Chapter 27

After long, glorious moments of snogging her the way he'd always wanted to, her hands still held the back of his neck so that he was firmly pressed against her, as though she thought there was some reason he would try to pull away. The very thought would have made Ron chuckle if he wasn't already busy with something much more worthwhile.

Her mouth—Merlin—opened underneath his, letting him feel her tongue against his for the first time. She was shy at first but then more bold, angling her head differently to bring them even closer together. He realized dimly that the mouth moving so brilliantly against his was the same one that had nagged him, told him off, and driven him to the point of madness with anger, longing, or both.

This was _Hermione,_ pressing against him, closer than they had ever been except in his most fevered nighttime imaginings. He realized his hands were digging into her back and truly had to be hurting her, so he spared a bit of his concentration to relax his fingers. She whimpered and tugged him closer in response, her own fingers tightening against the muscles in the back of his neck. He barely fought back the strangled noise that threatened to escape him as he realized what was happening.

This was _her_ and this was _him_ and this time they didn't have to wait because the fate of the world rested partially on their shoulders. She may not remember much yet, but perhaps, just perhaps, what they had together was the one thing her stubborn brain hadn't been able to let go of.

He wished they could talk and kiss all at the same time. There were so many things he wanted to say to her and questions he needed to ask her. He reflected for a moment on what an unfamiliar sensation this was, this need to communicate with her as they kissed. His only other experience snogging was with Lavender, and more often than not he had kissed her specifically to shut her up and _keep_ her from the incessant prattle that made him spare with boredom.

Hermione, if only she remembered enough, would kill him if she knew he was thinking of Lavender right now, even if it was to draw a comparison between the two of them where she came off the winner. However, Hermione wasn't making it difficult for him to shut out all thoughts of the only other person he'd ever kissed, as she seemed to be searching for each and every way it was possible to drive him mad and setting out to do just that.

Where in the magical world had she learned how to do this? Krum? McLaggen? His anger flared at the thought of other wizards wandering around, knowing what it felt like to have Hermione move her lips _like that_ while her hand traced its way down the side of his neck to that place on his shoulder. It made him want to grab her and take her back to her bed where they'd sat just hours ago reading about bloody Persistent Charms.

He clutched at her, trying to block out the images of one of those other blokes doing to her what they were now doing together. Sure, she'd had to watch him and Lavender for months, but that was different. Ron wasn't sure how it was different, exactly, but it clearly was. 

Hermione would probably disagree, and that was probably the best reason for him to keep kissing her instead of pulling away and starting some daft row as part of him seemed to want to do. That would be the best part of him to begin ignoring from now on, he decided, especially if he ever wanted to have the distinct pleasure of feeling the way her body fit against his again. 

And she did seem to mold directly to him, no matter how they shifted against each other. He realized that he wanted to be able to pull his jumper off at the end of the each and every day of the rest of his life and press it to his face, knowing that it would smell just faintly of her because they'd spent enough time snogging that her very essence had rubbed off on him. He wanted that, along with other things that he knew would make her eyes widen in shock, even though he, at last, had the barest hope that she might want those things as well.

She broke apart from him and he heard the most embarrassing whimper of disappointment leave him, but he calmed as he felt her mouth trace its way across his chin. It didn't leave an unpleasantly wet trail the way Lavender's had when she'd done this but Hermione's mouth was somehow not dry at all, but moist and amazing against his skin.

"Hermione," he choked out, "w—we don't have to—bloody hell—I mean, we d—don't have to rush anything," he finished lamely, trying not to think about how his voice sounded reedy and shaky.

Hermione pulled back completely from him for a long moment, giving Ron a look he associated more with shouting at each other than snogging. Perhaps one of the many things Hermione had forgotten was that she could be right scary when she wanted to be. Then her eyes flashed at him, and not entirely with anger. Blimey, she was beautiful when she did that.

Ron took advantage of her momentary stillness and bent to kiss her earlobe, relishing the sound that came from deep within her throat as he drew it into his mouth and sucked gently.

"What happened to not wanting to rush things?" she asked breathlessly. Ron relished the bit of difficulty Hermione had speaking, though she was trying to cover it and sound much more in control than she clearly was.

"I never said I didn't want to rush things. I said we didn't have to." He'd lifted his mouth from her skin by a hair's breadth, letting his lips vibrate against her as he spoke. He had no idea if Hermione thought it felt good, but he had an idea that he might finally have ample opportunity to find out exactly what she did and didn't like.

"I've read my letter, you know. I know now that you weren't joking when you told me we row all the time. And here you are starting another one."

"We can argue like this whenever you want," he said, then dipped his head into the spot where her neck angled into the gentle curve of her shoulder. He thought he might die when she went slightly limp against him in response.

"I think I remembered something," she said, having even more difficulty speaking now than she had before, but she soldiered on. "It's just a flash of something, really, but I'm sure it's real."

"Tell me," he said, inhaling the scent of whatever she and Ginny had used on her hair to tame it as he took another brief moment away from tracing the curves of her neck and shoulders with his mouth.

"Some of it is from my letter, and some of it I remembered on my own." She paused for a moment as Ron closed his mouth around the pulse point on her neck, but she quickly cleared her throat and continued. "It was the best time I could ever remember having. I felt beautiful, and I felt wanted. People had actually complemented me on something other than being clever. A dashing, polite boy doted on my every word and my every need. It should have been perfect."

Ron pulled away a bit and looked into her eyes, finding her impossible to read.

"I knew you'd write about that night," he said, wondering how his regret from so long ago could possibly still feel so real to him. It was suddenly as though it had all happened just moments ago, that he'd just had to watch her having the time of her life with another bloke. A bloke she'd chosen to accompany instead of him.

In the end, that's what it came down to, wasn't it? That was really why he'd been so hurt, and why it had been necessary to cover that hurt with anger. Yes, he hadn't asked Hermione to the Yule Ball nicely, but he had eventually asked her, hadn't he? Even though he'd been so completely clueless at the time, sometimes entranced by a part-Veela and sometimes so in denial of his feelings for his best friend that he'd tried to find _anyone_ in the school to ask other than her, he had asked her. Yes, it was too late. Yes, she'd already given her word to someone else.

But part of him had wondered why she hadn't been willing to withdraw her acceptance from Krum to go with him. It was petulant and it was petty, but he'd never been able to forgive her for not dropping everything the moment he'd realized who he wanted to go to the ball with.

Of course, he'd never told her that. He'd come up with every excuse for being angry with her that he'd been able to think of other than her one, unforgivable sin. She hadn't been as desperate to go with him as he'd been to go with her (even if it had taken him forever to realize it) and she'd had the gall to have a good time without him. With someone else. While he'd had to watch.

Maybe that was what Lavender had really been about. He'd been absolutely mad at the idea of her snogging Krum, but he was already angry about having to watch her enjoy herself with him that night. That was why he'd spent so much time snogging Lavender while Hermione could do nothing but stand by and watch. It had been revenge of the nastiest sort, even more horrible because of how long he'd held onto that resentment and how blindsided Hermione must have been by the abruptness of it all.

"As I said, I was having the best time I'd ever had. And then suddenly, I wasn't."

"I was a git, Hermione. I should never have yelled at you that night. I didn't believe any of that rubbish I accused you of. I was angry at myself for not—"

"Ron," she said, silencing him with a finger on his lips. "Yes, I remember how much it hurt. I remember crying and wondering why I couldn't quite bring myself to hate you. Then I realized that I still wished that I'd had all that fun with you that night, even though you'd hurt me. What I wrote to myself in that letter, I know it's true, even though I can only remember shades of it, images, impulses, really. It's what I knew that night. I could never really enjoy myself the way I should have. Not unless I was with you."

"Hermione, I—"

"I'm sorry to interrupt you Ron, but I think we've gotten into some of the worst trouble of our lives together by speaking when we really shouldn't have."

Ron smiled, wondering how that impossible, bushy-haired little girl he had, for some reason, not been utterly in love with, was possibly the same woman who stood before him now.

"You're right," he said, and his last conscious thought for quite some time was of how lovely it was to agree with her.


	28. Chapter 28

"I don't know if I've ever seen you this nervous, Hermione," Ron said with a smirk, but he put up his hands in surrender when the look Hermione gave him in return made him fear for his bodily integrity. He liked all of his bits where they were currently, thank you, and Hermione's wand was firmly set in her casting hand.

"I have," Harry said, wearing a smirk of his own. 

Those two quietly-spoken words drew Hermione's ire away from Ron, much to his relief. They'd been out of St. Mungo's for several months now, and in that time, Hermione had taken Harry's faster pace of regaining his memories quite personally. She always protested that she was merely concerned that there might be a reason for it that the Healers could address, but Ron knew the truth. She simply couldn't stand for being beaten at anything, especially something she undoubtedly saw as an intellectual challenge.

"When d'you reckon, Harry?" Ron said, eager to hear what Harry had remembered. Harry's memories had trickled back at first, but once they'd been discharged and Harry set up a flat for himself in Hogsmeade, the extra time with Ginny seemed to have turned the trickle into a flood. Ron still wasn't sure why his time with Hermione wasn't quite having the same results, but he pushed that from his mind as quickly as he could. He didn't like to think that his bond with Hermione was somehow not as strong as his sister's and Harry's was.

"Waiting for our O.W.L. results, of course. I thought she'd wear a trench into the floor with all that pacing," Harry said, winking at Ron.

"You did not," Hermione said, her irritation shining in her eyes. "And even if you did, if the two of you continue to annoy me, I'll put you both out on the street. This _is_ my flat, you know. And my table that your dirty boots are resting on, Ronald, I might add." A flick of her wand, and Ron felt his feet being drawn upward as though pulled by a pair of invisible hands.

"Oi, Hermione," Ron protested, panicking a little as his boots raised high enough to be uncomfortable, but Hermione's wand twitched again and he was released. "C'mon, if you want to flirt, let's get rid of Harry first."

"Oh, shut it," Hermione said, inducing sputters of laughter from both of the boys.

"Hermione! I've never known you to say something like that, no matter what sort of prats Harry and I acted like," Ron said, laughing again as Hermione blushed a bit.

"Well, I'm sorry. I am a bit on edge. Getting our N.E.W.T. results is very important, you know, and none of us had the benefit of being taught by our professors for most of our last year," Hermione said, launching into the beginnings of a lecture that Ron felt was a bit too familiar.

"You can't change any of the results by worrying about them, you know," Ron told her, standing and striding over to her, then patting her back in what he hoped she'd decide was a reassuring manner. "Besides, if you get anything less than what we all know you deserve, everyone will know it was because you had to shepherd the both of us through all of our seventh year studies. And considering what a dunderhead Harry is, well ..." Ron trailed off, ducking as Harry threw a large, burgundy throw pillow directly at Ron's head.

Ron's attempt at a joke had its desired effect, however, when the corners of Hermione's mouth turned up just a bit as she stared at him. It was a look that made Ron wish Harry had chosen to wait for his N.E.W.T. results elsewhere so that Ron could snog her properly, but some things would just have to wait until they had more privacy.

Ron realized that he probably wasn't being very subtle in the way he was staring at Hermione when he saw Harry begin to fidget uncomfortably with the hem of his jumper.

"Listen, I can wait over at my place. I'm sure the school's owl will find me, and I can Apparate back later, all right?" Harry said, clearly deciding that he'd rather retreat than watch Ron try to resist the urge to snog Hermione senseless.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. I'm sure the owls will arrive—oh, my goodness," Hermione said, turning a bit pale. "Here they are," she croaked with an unsually shaky voice. 

They'd all heard the sudden tapping of talons on Hermione's kitchen window, and despite Ron's pretended nonchalance, he felt his stomach drop a few meters.

"I can't look. I think I may be sick," Hermione said, an expression of the deepest alarm on her face. "It's worse than I could have imagined. That's our future, there, in those parcels."

There was a terrible quiet, filled only with the continued _tap tap tap_ of the owls on the pane of the closed window. Harry finally broke the silence as he pounded one open palm on Hermione's table as he got to his feet.

"That's rubbish. Look what we've already done! I don't care what those parcels say. The three of us can do anything we want to," Harry said, looking in the direction of Hermione's kitchen with defiance.

"Try telling that to the Ministry if I've gotten bottom marks," Hermione whispered, but Ron felt there was a much greater chance that he would be the one trying to make a go at a career without a single N.E.W.T.

"Oh, sod the Ministry. I'm going to let them in," Harry said. "Coming?"

Hermione slumped a bit, then drew herself up to her full height. "Yes," she said, with just a suggestion of a quiver in her lower lip. Ron could only nod, but he somehow got his feet moving and followed them to the window where the owls awaited them.

"There must be some mistake," Ron said, puzzled. "There's only two owls." He'd no sooner said it aloud when he began to wonder if they'd thought there was no point in sending an owl to him when he hadn't managed a passing grade in a single subject, even with Hermione's help.

Blimey, an Order of Merlin had to be worth something, didn't it? Surely someone would hire him, even just for the novelty factor of employing one of the bloody 'Hogwarts Heroes'.

Wouldn't they?

Hermione unlatched the window and opened it, jumping back a bit when both owls flew past her in a flurry of wings and loud squawking. One of them landed on Harry's shoulder, offering a scroll of parchment and a pouch to him. The other did the same to Ron, but he was too surprised to untie the string holding them to the owl's leg until he received a nasty nip on his finger from a very sharp, curved beak.

"I—" Hermione stammered, leaning out the window a bit as Ron stood, dumbly holding his parcel. She pushed herself further out the window, craning her neck. She leaned so far, in fact, that Ron worried that she'd fall to the ground outside, so he grabbed her gently by the waist and pulled her back.

"Well, I'm sure mine's just been delayed," Hermione said, trying to smile calmly, but failing miserably.

"That must be it," Harry agreed, nodding profusely. When Ron hadn't said anything for several long moments, Harry smacked him in the middle of his chest.

"Right!" Ron said. "Listen, Hermione. That ruddy owl is probably so laden with employment offers for you that he'll take three times as long to get here with your results."

"I'm not certain of that, but thank you," Hermione said, though she still seemed alarmingly pale. "Don't wait on my account. Open them," she continued, and it appeared that she had summoned up some true excitement for her friends, even if her wait was apparently not yet over.

"You first, Harry," Ron said, feeling Harry's packet was a foregone conclusion regardless of the contents of his N.E.W.T. letter. Ron reckoned that Harry would be welcome anywhere at the Ministry he might choose to go, and certainly accepted to train as an Auror if he wanted to. Everyone knew what a powerful wizard Harry had always been, even if it didn't show in his N.E.W.T. results for some reason.

Harry pulled the string holding his parcel closed and several sheets of parchment were inside. Each one of them, Ron knew from watching similar parcels for Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrive at the Burrow in previous years, contained a job offer from one Ministry department or another.

"Department of Magical Games and Sports, Department of Magical Transportation, Accidental Magic Reversal Squad," Harry said, leafing through more bits of parchment that he didn't even bother to read aloud, "and—" Harry paused for a moment, holding the last piece of parchment in his hands. "—an invitation to Auror testing and training."

"Brilliant," Ron said, but he immediately wondered if Harry was happy about what he'd obviously been searching for in his packet. Harry was just staring at the scroll, his eyes not even moving with any semblance of reading.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked him, lying an anxious hand on his forearm.

"Yeah," Harry said, slowly. "I was hoping it would be there, but now that it is ..."

"You're not sure you want to do it," Hermione finished, when Harry appeared unwilling to do so. "You don't have to, you know. You can do whatever you want. You can be the conductor of the Knight Bus if you'd like, Harry. As long as you're happy."

"I wouldn't steal Stan's job, not now that he's finally out of Azkaban and cleared," Harry said seriously, then smiled at Hermione. "I'll have to think about this."

"Well, you've got time," Hermione said, reading over Harry's shoulder. "Testing doesn't begin for several months."

"Still, I should decide something soon," Harry said, though he clearly liked Hermione's idea of taking a bit of time much better.

"Rubbish," Hermione shot back. "You don't owe anyone anything until you're ready to decide for yourself."

"Tell that to the people who stop us in the street and tell us they'll feel so much more comfortable when they know that the three of us are on the Auror squad," Harry answered, staring at the toes of his shoes.

"We've saved the world once already, mate," Ron said. "Any more than that is up to us, I'd say." He was relieved when Harry smiled, but he still felt odd taking credit for what Harry and Hermione had accomplished. He knew someday they would both remember that Ron had pulled away from the spell and left all the load of supporting Harry on Hermione's shoulders, but he wasn't about to reveal it any earlier than was necessary.

"Go on then, let's see who wants you," Harry said, prodding Ron in the arm.

Ron opened his parcel and thumbed through the offers inside, laughing a bit as he did so.

"Looks like a carbon copy of yours," Ron said. "We always did seem to end up tying for second to Hermione's first place. C'mon. N.E.W.T. results on three."

They both untied their last scroll of parchment and silently counted together, opening it on cue. Ron was shocked to see he'd actually achieved enough N.E.W.T.s to qualify for Auror training outright. Looking up, he realized Harry was having a similar reaction.

"I thought they'd given us a pass," Ron said, grinning at Harry.

"Of course they wouldn't have to do that," Hermione said, with mild irritation. "I told both of you that you'd do fine."

"So if you taught us, and you knew enough for us to do 'fine,' why are you still worried about your own results?" Ron said, seeing that glimmer of concern still hiding in her eyes.

"Well, obviously because I've received no results at all," Hermione said miserably.

"Hermione, there are a thousand reasons why your owl wouldn't be here yet," Ron said, though he could really only think of four. The first, that the owl could have gotten lost, wasn't very likely. Second, that she honestly didn't have any N.E.W.T. results or job offers, was so ridiculous it was unthinkable. Ron personally thought that one of her job offers was causing the delay for some reason, but he couldn't quite rule out the possibility that someone had intercepted her owl for some reason. He tried not to let the concern show on his face that someone like Rita Skeeter or even one of the few remaining Death Eaters had thought they had something to gain from looking at her N.E.W.T. results, but he apparently wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"What?" Hermione demanded. "You know something, don't you? Did this happen to one of your brothers? Oh, my!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly, her hand flying to cover her mouth. "Did this happen to Fred and George? Because, of course, they never took their N.E.W.T. examinations, did they? They got something else, didn't they, and you just don't want to say. Ron!" she continued, her voice muffled behind her hand.

"What? No!" Ron answered. "It's nothing like that. It's just—a bit odd that yours isn't here as well. Made me wonder if someone, well, nicked them."

Harry suddenly looked very serious.

"Do you think she's in some danger? What could be in that parcel that someone would want to intercept, though? And how could they hurt Hermione with it?" Harry said, jumping quickly to conclusions and causing Hermione's eyes to widen further.

"I don't think they could," Ron said, trying to calm both of them down. "I shouldn't have even said it. It's more likely that there's just been a delay with one of Hermione's job offers, don't you think?" Ron offered, though he was still trying to figure out if she was indeed in danger of some sort because of this.

"Yeah, that must be it," Harry agreed. "Come on now. We'll keep you company. If you don't mind me rummaging in your kitchen, I'll make us some lunch if the two of you want to relax. Now that I finally remember some of that time I spent cooking for the Dursleys, I may as well put it to good use."

"Certainly, Harry. That would be nice," Hermione said in a distracted sort of way, but she continued to stand in the middle of the kitchen.

"Come on, Hermione. Let's leave Harry to it," Ron said, taking her by the arm and leading her back to the sitting room. She waited to speak until they were alone. 

"What if they've found out about my memory loss, Ron? What if that's why I've received no parcel?"

"If they've found out about you, they've undoubtedly found out about Harry as well, and that didn't seem to stop them from offering him several posts."

"He's got a good bit more of his memory back than I have," Hermione said, a new look of unhappiness settling on her features. "Perhaps they'll make me wait until I remember more. Oh, Ron, as though this hasn't all taken long enough already ... just think, they might leave me in this limbo indefinitely."

"I'm sure the explanation is much simpler than that, Hermione. You shouldn't make any assumptions. We can wait for a bit, and if we haven't heard anything, we can contact McGonagall to see if she knows anything, yeah?"

"Perhaps we should speak with her now," Hermione said, pulling her arm out of Ron's grasp just as he'd finally managed to lead her over to the settee. "I'm not sure I have any Floo powder, and Merlin only knows if she's in her office ..." She paced a bit, not quite heading for her fireplace mantel, but not allowing Ron to settle her down, either.

"You can Floo her if it would make you feel better, but perhaps you'd give me a go at calming you down first," he said, making an attempt at levity. He still wasn't quite used to being able to flirt with her openly (and honestly, since it had never been necessary with Lavender, he was still trying to get the hang of it) so it was usually easier for him to do it with a bit of humor.

"I appreciate you trying to reassure me, Ron, but I think you've said just about everything—oh!" she said, apparently just realizing what Ron had meant.

"I'm trying not to be terribly put out that you'd rather talk to McGonagall than allow me to distract you for a bit," Ron said, pretending to be cross with her, and he was rewarded with the first real smile she'd allowed since she'd opened the door of her flat to him that morning.

"Well?"

"What?" Ron said, deliberately acting thick.

"Carry on with it, then," she said, stepping a bit closer to him.

"Oh, bloody romantic, that is," he said. "I don't know how I lasted so long before I just had to sweep you off your feet in that hospital room."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Who swept whom off their feet?" she asked.

"Hey, I snogged you first. Right in front of Lupin, Harry, and my sister, if memory serves."

"What about before the spell?" she asked, stepping further into his arms, then dragging him backward a few steps toward the settee he'd tried to steer her to moments ago.

"Still kissed you first," he protested, and his eyelids got that wonderfully heavy feeling they always got just before a really good snog with Hermione.

"But I did it better," she corrected, as they tumbled in a bit of a heap onto the overstuffed pillows behind them.

"Why are you always so bloody competitive?" he asked, then finally let his mouth descend onto hers.


	29. Chapter 29

"That was embarrassing with Harry earlier," Hermione said sleepily, lying in front of Ron on the settee as they tried to relax several hours later. "I can't believe we got that ... involved ... when we knew he was right in the next room."

"Hermione, we were only snogging. He's seen us snog. As I reminded you earlier, he saw the first snog we had after we all ended up in the hospital."

"He hasn't seen us snog _lying down_ ," Hermione said, and Ron wanted to chuckle at the scandalous tone in her voice.

"We weren't lying down, exactly. We were just kind of—leaning against the pillows a bit." Her silence told him that she wasn't convinced. "What, are you afraid my mum will find out and call you a scarlet woman?" he teased.

"Well, if you must know, yes." Ron leaned over her a bit to give her a look, but she continued anyway. "And I don't want Harry to think that either."

"I was here too, you know. I'm not worried that Harry will think less of me, and you shouldn't be, either."

"It's different for girls, Ron."

"Since when did you really believe the rules were different for men and women?"

Hermione was quiet for a moment and Ron thought he'd won the argument.

"Do you see me as a woman?" she asked, an innocent question that Ron believed might actually have the power to get him killed if he answered it incorrectly.

"I don't see you as a bloke," Ron said, shifting away from her a bit in the event that this conversation took a turn that would cause him to embarrass himself.

"You know what I mean," she said, the exasperation in her voice the same as it was when they were eleven.

"Of course I see you as a woman, Hermione. Don't you know that I'm completely mad for you?" he whispered into her ear, the words a little easier to say because they weren't looking directly at each other. It was still strange to feel shy around Hermione for anything, but romance was the one thing that seemed to knock him just a bit off balance around her.

She was oddly silent after that, but Ron stopped worrying that he'd offended her in some way when she snuggled back into him and shivered just a bit in his arms.

They stayed that way for several minutes without speaking, Ron caressing Hermione's cheek with the tips of his fingers while Hermione drew patterns on his other palm with her fingernails.

"This is nice, isn't it?" Ron said, immediately feeling stupid for saying something so simple as though it was a deep revelation.

"It is," Hermione sighed, and the tone of her voice made him feel less dumb. "It's just about the most wonderful thing I can imagine, in fact," she continued, burrowing her head back into his chest as though she was trying to eliminate all the space between them.

"I could just stay like this, I think, and die a happy man," he said, knowing Hermione would take it as a bit of a joke, but meaning it more than she knew.

Ever since they'd left the hospital and moved into their own flats, Ron had been obsessed with the impulse to convince her they should move in together. He missed seeing her for breakfast every morning and he felt they were wasting quite a bit of money on two flats as they were usually at hers for dinner every evening, anyway. The only thing they did separately was sleep, really. Come to think of it, Ron had some interest in putting an end to that as well, though he wasn't at all sure how Hermione felt about it.

Hermione had been the one to insist that they set up separate housekeeping, after all, arguing that the press was still rather obsessed with them. The notion of asking her to marry him had occurred to him more than once, and not just to get rid of the second flat. He thought of it every day, actually, if he was really being honest with himself.

They were so young, though. Not younger than his own parents, or Harry's, had been when they got engaged, but he still worried that Hermione would think they were moving too fast if he proposed to her. She'd grown up a Muggle, after all, and he knew from his father that Muggles tended to wait quite a bit longer before marriage.

"Yes, it's lovely. You—"

Hermione stopped speaking abruptly and stiffened in his arms. Ron panicked for a moment, wondering what he'd done to offend her. With more than a little difficulty he'd managed to keep his body under control, so he wasn't sure what it could possibly have been.

"What is it, Hermione? Do you want to get up? Did you hear an owl?" he asked, wondering if her results had finally arrived.

"No, it's nothing like that," she said, her voice quite strained. Ron's panic rose further, hoping he hadn't managed to ruin things between them somehow.

"We were like this. During the spell," she whispered, going even more rigid against him.

"Yes," he told her, shutting his eyes and wishing he'd had more time with her before she discovered what he'd done and the danger he'd so recklessly put them in. Why had he ever broken away from the spell when there was so much at stake? He hadn't been able to ignore the distress Hermione had clearly been in during the spell, but he could have gotten Harry killed. Possibly all three of them, since they didn't know as much about the spell as they might have liked before they'd been forced to use it.

"We weren't supposed to be like this," she said, but her voice was missing the accusatory tone he'd always imagined when he thought about how this conversation would go.

"No," he admitted. 

"You came to me," she said, still giving away nothing though the sound of her voice.

"I—I couldn't help it, Hermione. I know I should have stuck to what we'd agreed to do, but once the pain hit us, you cried out. Not just once, but over and over. I couldn't get it out of my head, even though I knew I was supposed to concentrate on Harry." The words fell out of his mouth quickly and he was unable to stop his confession. "I suppose I thought it might help me refocus if I went to you, but I'm sure I was wrong. Just look what happened ... I came out of the spell just fine because I pulled away from the connection with Harry, and the two of you paid the price for it." He closed his eyes and let his head fall against her shoulder, breathing in her scent for what he hoped wasn't the last time. Surely she'd be angry with him, but she'd be able to forgive him eventually, wouldn't she?

"That isn't what happened at all, Ron," she said, and he realized the wetness he felt against his arm was from the tears she was silently crying. Her shoulders shook just a bit, and he hated himself for making her cry.

"Hermione, trust me. Your memory of this might still be hazy, but I remember every second of it. I've known it all along. I'm just sorry I didn't admit it to you and Harry earlier."

"You aren't the one who put us in jeopardy, Ron. It was me," Hermione said, finally giving in and sobbing in earnest, going limp in his arms.

"No," he said. "That's not how it was. You were still fully committed to the spell. I'm the one who fought it so I could pull myself over to you. You were so cold when I got there, Hermione. You felt ... dead. I panicked. I thought if I took you into my arms, you'd be all right."

"Did you cry out, Ron? When the pain came?"

"What?" he said, shaking his head. "No, I don't think so. I was probably already pulling away from it, while you were taking my share along with yours. I can't believe I was so weak, Hermione. I'll understand if you can't—"

"Please, Ron," she begged, crying harder now. Each word she spoke was clearly an effort for her to push out between sobs. "Let me finish."

He nodded against her shoulder, wishing he could take it all back.

"Harry left and everything was fine at first. I could see things," she said, the crying subsiding now as she bravely tried to explain her memory to him. "When the first wave of pain hit us, it was so much worse than I'd imagined. It took me by surprise, I have to admit."

"Me too, Hermione. Even though you warned me, I'd never imagined it would be like that."

"And then I did it. The same thing I've done every time I've had to help Harry by doing anything other than sticking my nose into an old, musty book. I blanked. I lost my head. You're not the one who abandoned the spell and nearly got us all killed. I'm the one who did that. I'm terrible every time there's a crisis."

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about? You're brilliant, Hermione. How could we ever have gotten through everything without you?"

"Rather well, if you think about it. I noticed a pattern when I read my letter." Hermione ticked off her imagined crimes on her fingers. "I forgot I was a witch when I was faced with the Devil's Snare when we went after the Stone in first year. You had to remind me that I had a working wand in my hand." 

"Hermione, that's—"

"I ripped a page on basilisks out of a book the next year and went running pell-mell through the castle with it. I knew I could be Petrified, otherwise I wouldn't have used the mirror. But did I write a note to you and Harry, just in case it happened before I could tell you about the basilisk? No, I didn't." 

" _Hermione_ , you can't—"

"I blanched when Harry yelled at me in fifth year, before we went off to the Ministry on those blasted thestrals. I had a feeling it was a trap, but I went along with him anyway. And don't get me started on how daft it was to use _Silencio_ on a Death Eater trying to kill me that night. I know a million spells that could have kept us all safe, but I went and got myself knocked out because I couldn't think of a single one in the moment when I needed it. Ginny was there by Harry's side that night and I was lying there out cold."

"You're being ridiculous. You were much more helpful to Harry at the Department of Mysteries than I was. I took one curse and all I did after that was cause trouble."

"You were hit with a curse and still you were trying to help Harry, even once that spell caused you to lose most of your faculties. I was lying unconscious in a corner when Sirius was killed. Some help I am. I'm great with books and theories. When I'm in the moment, though, I fall apart."

"No, you don't, Hermione. I've been there with you. I'd trust my life to you, you know that? We've all been scared, even Harry. Blimey, Hermione ... if you'd been there when Harry and I had to go into the Forbidden Forest to see Aragog you'd have seen me losing my head rather effectively."

Hermione shook her head violently. "Regardless, Ron. That's what happened during the spell. The pain hit, and after the first few waves, I couldn't take it anymore. I started to pull away. That must have been when I cried out, and you came to my side. When I felt you there with me, it was the only thing that gave me the strength to stay connected. If you hadn't come to me ... Harry wouldn't have had the power he needed. I would have gotten him killed, and probably everyone else fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters that night." She shuddered, and Ron tried desperately to think of something to say. "If it hadn't been for you, we'd have all died that night."

"Maybe I helped you, but that's what we do, Hermione. We help each other. How many essays did you help me with or, blimey, just outright write for me during school? How many N.E.W.T.s would Harry or I have got without you to help us? Hermione, helping you during that spell, if that _is_ what happened, was the least I can do."

"I don't know, Ron," she said, not sounding entirely convinced.

"You know what this means? It means we're stuck with each other. I need you and you need me, and don't you forget it."

"You took the brunt of the spell and still retained your memories," Hermione said, still sounding miserable.

"We don't know why that happened. Maybe going to you focused me somehow. Maybe it changed the balance of the spell. Maybe I borrowed a bit of my power back from Harry and used it to help you, and that protected what's in this tiny brain of mine."

"Ron," Hermione admonished, clearly unhappy at Ron's characterization of his intelligence.

"I'm only joking. The important thing is that we never forget how much we need each other."

"I won't," Hermione whispered, finally sounding convinced.

"Turn around," Ron asked.

"Ron! I can't. There isn't room to move without both of us ending up sprawled on the carpet."

"That wouldn't be all bad, would it?"

"Ron," she warned, but she didn't sound that put out.

"Just do it. I'll keep you from falling."

Hermione struggled a bit, twisting around in his arms. She would have fallen if he hadn't steadied her several times, just as she'd predicted.

"What?" she asked, once they were lying stomach to stomach, his nerves completely alive at the contact between the two of them.

"So you agree then," he began, wishing his voice wouldn't sound so raspy and breathy, "that we're rubbish without each other?"

"In principle," she said, smirking at him.

"Then marry me," he said, forcing himself to look, unblinking, into her eyes. The need to protect himself, to look away so he wouldn't see the regret or the uncertainty in her eyes when he asked, was almost impossible to withstand.

Her eyelids fluttered several times in surprise, but she didn't leave him waiting for long.

"Right, then. Muggle or wizard ceremony?"

"Don't tease me, Hermione," he said, feeling one of their hearts start to beat faster. They were pressed together so closely that he honestly didn't know whose it was.

"I'm not teasing you. If you can stick with me even though I still don't remember as much as I'd like, that is."

"If you never remembered another thing, I'd still want to spend the rest of my life with you. You're still _you_ , Hermione," he said, looking up at the ceiling for a moment and trying to remember something from months ago. "You were so scared one night, just after you found the spell. You asked me what would happen if we all forgot each other. You thought it would be nearly the same thing as dying, because we wouldn't be the same people without our memories. But you _are_ still you. You were from the moment you woke up again. The memories are just things. I'm happy every time you get one back, but you don't need them to be the person you are."

"So you really want to marry me, then?"

"Yes," he said, leaning forward to kiss her. He groaned in frustration when she pulled back.

"This isn't just because you like my flat better than yours?"

"Of course I do," he said. "You're in it, aren't you? That's enough for me."

"I may _need_ a roommate to help me pay the rent, if I never receive my N.E.W.T. results."

"You _will_ , Hermione. I'm sure—" Ron stopped, hearing another tapping at her window. "See, speak of the devil. There they are."

Hermione gave him a quick peck and pushed away from him, scrambling inelegantly to her feet and sprinting to the kitchen. Her desperation to read her results made him a bit nostalgic. It was such a wonderfully _Hermione_ thing to do, the sort of thing he was afraid, not too very long ago, that he might never see again.

He heard her kitchen window open and shut before he could even get up to follow her, and she reappeared in the doorway with a breathless expression and a flush on her cheeks.

"It's enormous," he said, blinking at her parcel in shock. He'd known she would be in demand, given the scores she'd likely achieved on her exams and the reputation she now had as the 'brains' behind the defeat of Voldemort, but the wrapping of brown paper and the several lengths of string holding the parcel closed surpassed anything he'd imagined.

"It's not _that_ large," she said, though she did seem secretly pleased that he'd mentioned it.

"Well, open it!" he demanded, wanting to know what had caused the delay.

"I suppose it won't read itself," she said, opening the scroll that contained her N.E.W.T. results. She looked quite serious for a moment, but then a wide smile broke out across her face.

"They're all you hoped for then, are they?" Ron asked, getting only a vigorous nod in response. "Open the important bit, why don't you?"

Hermione set aside her N.E.W.T. results and looked at the large parcel left in her hands as thought it might attack her at any moment. She took a few deep breaths and shut her eyes for a moment, then set her mouth and pulled on the twine holding the package shut. They both jumped back a bit when one of the sheets of parchment, obviously charmed, floated upward until it was level with Hermione's eyes.

"Please read this offer first, Miss Granger," the parchment bellowed, and Ron found the voice quite familiar.

"It's Minister Scrimgeour," Hermione said, just in the same moment that Ron managed to place the voice.

"Blimey, for a moment, I thought it was a Howler," Ron joked, coaxing a smile out of a newly anxious-looking Hermione.

She plucked the parchment from the air and unrolled it, her eyes moving quickly from side to side as she read it. She gasped once, covering her mouth with her free hand.

"What?" Ron demanded, wondering what Scrimgeour could write to Hermione that would cause her to go into such a shock. He hoped it was something pleasant. Given her N.E.W.T. results, he could hardly see how things could be otherwise.

"They want to create a department for me to run," she said, giving him a look of utter befuddlement. "I—I'm nineteen. This must be some mistake."

"The parchment called you 'Miss Granger.' I hardly think that's a mistake."

"I'd work with liaisons from each of the other departments in the Ministry, looking for ways to combine their efforts, but I'd also have free reign to do any sort of research that I feel might be a benefit. I can augment the work on already existing projects, or I can begin my own." Her look of shock still hadn't subsided. "It's basically a blank ticket. I can do anything I want to do."

"I've always believed you could do anything you wanted to do. This just makes it official." He examined her, seeing the attractive blush that had just begun to color her cheeks. "You're taking it, of course."

"I—I really should read the others," she said, looking uncertainly at the rest of the scrolls that had been contained in her parcel.

"Come on, Hermione. What's the point? There won't be a better offer than what you've just read."

"There won't, will there?" she said, looking shell-shocked again.

"Don't look so surprised, Hermione. I could have told you how brilliant you are. Cheers to Scrimgeour for realizing it and giving you what you need to do the most good. It's the least daft thing he's ever done." She didn't even twitch. She just stood, staring at her letter.

"I—I suppose I'd be a fool not to take it." She looked back at him and an evil smile played out over her face. "My first order of business will, of course, be to involve myself quite heavily in Auror training. I might need to stay quite close to oversee things ... make sure we're being quite thorough with the training schedule."

They snogged for rather a long time after that.

* * *

Quick Author's Note: This isn't quite the end. There is one more chapter yet to come. An epilogue. You didn't think I was done with Aldwyn yet, did you?


	30. Chapter 30

**_Epilogue_ **

* * *

"Are you certain you don't want me to go with you?"

Ron smiled as his wife's anxious voice met him, her concern for him evident. Something about the news he'd gotten the previous day had made him think back to exactly how she had become his wife and the people who had helped him stay sane in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat.

"I'm sure she'd love to see you, but perhaps you could come with me the next time I visit her," Ron replied, though he knew that if the information he'd gotten was true, there might not be another opportunity to visit her before it was too late.

"You should Apparate soon, then. Visiting hours only last so long, and I don't know whether you'll be able to wave that old Order of Merlin medal and get them extended for you or not. We're so old now that I doubt there's anyone young enough to work at St. Mungo's who even remembers who we are."

Ron looked at his wife and saw the look of teasing amusement in her eyes. Ever since the last of their children had taken their N.E.W.T.s she'd gone on about how they were getting old, but always with her tongue firmly planted in her cheek.

"I have never, in all my life, used that Order of Merlin medal for anything, and you know it."

"Do you honestly think I don't know how you got those lifetime season tickets to the Chudley Cannons?" She raised an eyebrow at him and he wondered at how she could wait so many years to reveal that she knew his little secret.

"Blimey, Hermione," he said, goggling at her. "Is there anything you don't know?"

"Plenty," she answered, handing him his robes. "I'm not at all certain how to help you now," she said, utter seriousness now shining in her eyes. "I know you're upset, but you haven't seemed to want to talk about it at all."

Ron shrugged into his traveling robes, stalling for a moment before he looked back at his wife. "I'm not sure I'll be able to talk about it until I see her today. I know it seems silly. We only knew her for a few months and we completely lost touch after we'd all recovered, but this is almost like—" Ron broke off, feeling his throat beginning to close. He looked down at his shoes, knowing that Hermione knew what he was about to say, but somehow needing to say it aloud regardless. "It's like losing Mum all over again."

"Ron," she breathed, and her hand fluttered onto his forearm, gripping it far too tightly. She'd always done things like that, even when they were just children at Hogwarts. He winced a little as her fingers bit into the ancient scars he still wore on his arms from their battle at the Department of Mysteries. 

"I'll be fine," he told her, trying to sound as earnest and as certain as possible. "I know it's silly, but I just want some time alone with her. I never got that with Mum before she passed away and I just can't make the same mistake again."

"Ron, with your mum ... you know there was no way you could have known that she was as ill as she was. She hid it from all of you, including your father, until the very last. You were abroad. There was no way for you to get back in time, and your mum knew how you felt about her."

"I know, Hermione," he said, still looking down at the floor. He forced himself to look up, knowing it would make her worry more about him if he didn't. "Thanks."

"Now. Go," she said, taking him by the shoulders and steering him to the fireplace. "I'll send you by Floo if you refuse to Apparate."

He smiled, finally feeling ready to set off. "Won't be necessary, love." He kissed her on the cheek and then Apparated to the nearest inconspicuous area by the entrance to St. Mungo's.

He made his way inside and to the front desk, got the information he needed from the young witch sitting there and then walked slowly to the ward she'd directed him to. 

When he reached the door, he stood there with his fist poised near it for a good minute before he worked up the courage to knock. Once he finally did, the door opened on its own and he heard a faint, "Come in," from the interior of the room. He took a deep breath and walked into the room, still wondering why he was so hesitant to visit her. When he saw her he realized immediately what he'd been afraid of.

There was Aldwyn, lying propped up against two fluffy green pillows, looking thin and pale. Ron remembered her as an old woman, but the Aldwyn of his memory was practically a girl compared to the wizened old witch before him now.

"Ronald Weasley," she rasped, her age-thinned lips forming a smile that rose higher onto her face and awakened the sparkle she'd always had in her eyes during his stay in St. Mungo's.

"Hello, Aldwyn," he said, trying to sound cheerful but knowing he'd failed when he saw the knowing look on her face.

"I know I'm dying, child," she said, gesturing to the chair that sat next to her hospital bed. "I was a Healer's Assistant for too long. I know precisely what is happening to me."

"Aldwyn, don't talk like that," Ron said, wishing for the millionth time that he'd kept in touch with this woman who had seen him through one of the roughest times of his life.

"Nonsense. No use in ignoring the truth. And it's all right. I've lived a long, long life, and I'm ready. I daresay I'll be even more ready after we've had a chance to catch up, not that I haven't been able to follow your exploits in _The Quibbler_."

"Luna's an old school chum," Ron explained. "Only seemed right to give her the exclusives on things like weddings and births, since it would make the papers regardless."

"I worried for you nonetheless, dear. I know how much you hated having to share anything with the press."

Ron shrugged. He still disliked it, but it had been going on for so much of his life now that it just didn't pay to get upset about it. Knowing that the 'Hogwarts Heroes' (as the three of them were still known all these years later) exclusives had helped Luna drive the _Daily Prophet_ completely out of business gave Ron quite a bit of private satisfaction.

"I didn't come here to talk about me, Aldwyn. I came to see you."

"Ah, then you have to humor an old woman and talk about what _I_ want to talk about, don't you? And I want to talk about that lovely wife of yours, and hear about those children."

"Hermione's great. She wanted to come today, but she couldn't get away. The kids are all fine as well. Just got Emilia's N.E.W.T. results a few weeks ago. Nearly got as many as her mother did. She'll probably work at the Ministry like her mother as well. Couldn't be prouder of them than we are, Aldwyn. Mind you, when Timothy came home for summer break back when he was fifteen, I thought I'd have to build a separate wing on the house to contain his 'my parents aren't cool' attitude, but who said parenting would be easy?"

Aldwyn smiled tiredly. "The papers never discovered the memory loss, did they?"

"Well, eventually Luna found out, but she never printed it. Brilliant having friends like that. She really could have sold a lot of papers with a headline like that, but she never even seemed to consider it."

"What about Harry?" Aldwyn tried to sit up straighter but winced and laid back against the pillows. Ron stood quickly and helped her, taking time to rearrange both pillows and make her as comfortable as possible.

"Well, you know he married my sister Ginny, yeah?" Aldwyn nodded and smiled, silently urging him to continue. "Between managing their Quidditch supplies shop and chasing after that gaggle of kids they've got, they stay pretty busy. And Ginny's got a great setup at the Burrow. Any unexpected visitors have to get past the Bat-Bogey wards before they can get anywhere near the family. Brilliant, really. Hermione's got a modified version of it on our house. Minus the bogeys. They're not really her style."

Aldwyn chuckled for a moment, then reached out and took his hand. "You can ignore my nosey, elderly-woman questions if you want to, but old age has made me less and less concerned about whether I'm prying or not." She waited a moment, then voiced the question Ron had been suspecting she'd ask him. "How much of their memories did they get back, in the end? I know it never mattered to you, except in thinking you were the cause of it, but I've always wondered."

"Harry reckons he's got just about all of it back. I mean, no one remembers everything of their past, do they? Hermione didn't get much back at first, but she got one memory that seemed to be the stopper in the bottle and the rest came rushing back after that. Scary how much she remembers now about our time at Hogwarts. More than I do, I think."

Ron fell quiet for a moment, thinking back to the afternoon he'd proposed to Hermione, when she'd remembered about casting the spell to help Harry defeat Voldemort. Once they'd both stopped blaming themselves for short moments of weakness during the spell, Hermione's memories came back faster and faster.

"Every time I saw you on the front page, I was proud to have been the one to hand you vials of potion while you were here. I kept expecting to see you here after all your time as an Auror, but you seem to have avoided injury. You wouldn't be brewing Felix Felicis in your basement now, would you?"

"No," Ron chuckled. "I've been really lucky even without the help of a potion." He thought back to the injury that led Tonks to retire from the squad a decade before, much to Remus's not-so-secret relief. She was one of the few who'd suffered spell damage on the job since the last of Voldemort's Death Eaters had been rounded up years ago, which made the Auror job title much less perilous to hold than it had been in the past. "The world's been a safer place for the last twenty-five years than it was before that."

"Thanks to you and my other two favorite patients."

_And Ginny_

, Ron added, silently. To this day, no one other than Harry, Ron, Hermione, or Ginny herself knew about Ginny's involvement in the final confrontation. Not because it was dangerous information really, but mainly because it was no one else's business. 

"I'm surprised you remembered me at all," Ron told her. "We were only here for a few weeks."

"I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that you're rather famous," Aldwyn said, winking at him, "but I would have remembered you regardless. Something about the way you looked at your Miss Granger reminded me of my Elbert when we were young."

"You were married?" he asked, and immediately felt daft. Of course she'd had a life outside St. Mungo's.

"Not by the time you met me," she said, and he felt even worse for having asked his tactless question. It must have shown on his face, because she squeezed his hand to regain his full attention. "It was a natural question, dear. A lot of patients have trouble imagining their Healers or Assistants away from the hospital, and you couldn't have known how early in my life I lost him. I'm quite used to having him only in my memory." She got a faraway look. "Perhaps that's about to change."

"Aldwyn," Ron protested, uncertain what he should say as she spoke so frankly of her rapidly degrading health.

"I told you, I know what's happening to me, and I've made my peace. I'm glad I got to see you first, though, I must say."

"I was a git when I was younger," Ron said, and then chuckled. "Right, I'm probably still a git, but I've got enough sense now to see how daft I was before." 

Aldwyn laughed a little too, patting his hand once before letting it go completely. "Why do you say that?"

"I never properly thanked you for everything you did for me. For all three of us. We were so lost. You helped us find our way back."

"Nonsense," she said, shaking her head. "I did my job. The three of you did the real work. You and your families."

"That's rubbish," Ron said, wishing he knew how he could possibly ever tell her exactly how much she had helped him. "I needed someone to give me a good, swift kick in the arse, and you were there to do it. I should have thanked you at the time. I should have kept in touch."

"Dear boy, please don't spend any time wishing you'd done things differently. What I wanted for you was to have your life, full and happy, and you've had that. It's all the thanks I'd ever need. And while some part of me always missed you, I had a full plate here, working the Spell Damage ward. No regrets, my young man. Promise me."

"Aldwyn—"

"No buts. Don't make me hoist myself out of this bed and hex you."

"All right, all right," Ron surrendered. "I promise. No regrets."

"Nothing but happy memories, all right?"

"Right," he agreed, and there was a long moment of comfortable silence between the two of them before Aldwyn finally broke it.

"As much as I hate to say this, I really feel I need a spot of rest. I'm so glad you came, Ron, and please give my best to your wife, and to Harry, if you wouldn't mind."

"No, no. Of course I wouldn't mind. In fact, I think they're both planning to visit you when I come again tomorrow, if that's all right."

Aldwyn gave him a tired smile. "Certainly. That would be lovely."

"I'll leave you to it, then. See you tomorrow."

"Yes," she answered, through a poorly-disguised yawn. Ron squeezed her hand once more before he left, somehow feeling both better and worse than he had before he'd come to see her.

* * *

The next day, Ron awoke and had the oddest feeling that he should check with St. Mungo's before they set out. He realized halfway through the Floo that he knew Aldwyn had passed away in the middle of the night, aware of it even before the witch at St. Mungo's said the words.

He tried to tell Hermione without reacting to the news. He'd had the chance to see Aldwyn before she died and he knew she wouldn't have wanted him to cry. He didn't make it through the first sentence though, and he broke down into silent tears just as he saw the realization in Hermione's eyes. She understood without hearing the rest what had happened, and gathered Ron into her arms right there in their sitting room.

"I should have let you come with me yesterday," he choked out.

"No," she said, smoothing her hand over his hair as she held him close. "You needed time alone with her. You were her favorite, anyway."

Ron pulled away a little so he could look at her. He had Hermione's face memorized, of course, including the little lines that had begun to appear around her eyes in recent years. She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, just because she was Hermione.

"I understand her quite well, actually," Hermione continued. "You see, you're _my_ favorite wizard as well."

"I love you," he told her, looking deeply into her eyes.

"That's convenient for me, then, as I love you just as much."

"I'll just Floo Harry and Ginny, give them the news and let them know we won't be going to St. Mungo's," he said, his voice breaking a little over the last few words.

"I can do it if you'd like, " Hermione told him, gently. Ron felt his throat begin to close with emotion again and he could only manage to nod in response.

He left her as she began the Floo contact with Harry and Ginny's house. He didn't really want to listen, so he went to his closet and dug around on the top shelf until he found two dusty velvet boxes. He opened the one that had his name emblazoned on the cover, looking at the Order of Merlin, First Class, that he'd been so angry to be awarded all those years ago.

He snapped the box closed again, putting it on his dresser instead of returning it to the closet shelf. He knew just what he'd leave with Aldwyn when he attended her funeral. 

It may be true that he'd had a hand in the defeat of Voldemort and that some people thought that made him a hero. But to him, after helping him keep his sanity and find his way to finally admitting his feelings to the amazing woman out in his sitting room, Aldwyn was most certainly Ron's hero.

* * *

_Author's notes:_

First of all, none of this is possible, or even nearly as accurate or entertaining, without the help of my beta, kjcp. Honestly, there's a lady with a lot of stuff on her plate, and yet she makes time to help me correct my ravings. And she's the mommy of the cutest boy ever, to boot!

Thank you all so much for reading.


End file.
